


Satuarday's Child

by linda92595



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linda92595/pseuds/linda92595
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU goes through some events in “Devil's Trap” and “In my Time of Dying”, but John does not die. Gender Swap (John); slash (Rape) John/Demon Dean; Slash and Het John/Dean; M-Preg (John pregnant.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know that it is popular in fandom to make John a bad guy, but I don’t see him as either a child abuser or a drunken bastard just harden maybe even callous, bitter and obsessive. This is a more John-centric fic, although not John friendly. He takes a beating.

_Monday's child is fair of face,_  
Tuesday's child is full of grace;  
Wednesday's child is full of woe,  
Thursday's child has far to go;  
Friday's child is loving and giving,  
Saturday's child works hard for its living;  
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day  
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

_\--Mother Goose_

 

 

The cabin was cold and empty. Dean kicked the door open, lifting the flashlight and flicking the beam around the room.  There was no sign of anyone in the room; a thick layer of dust lay over the sparse and broken furnishings. John fumbled the Colt out of his pocket. It hit the table with a hollow clatter, and both Dean and John turned toward the entryway.  The door rattled in the frame and John ducked scrambling for the gun, but the door blew in before he could reach it.

 

A cold wind whipped through the room stirring dust and knocking over the table, the Colt clattered to the floor. Dean jumped forward and the whirlwind slammed him back. He staggered then straightened out turning toward Sam. The younger man suddenly found himself slammed against the wall. He winced in pain and the air was driven from his body. John jumped toward the body of his older son, but a quick movement from Dean sent the elder Winchester spinning toward the wall. John levitated a few feet off the floor, his chest and shoulders penned against its rough surface, feet dangling mid-air. He cried out as the hazel eyes staring at him flashed to gold.

 

The demon slammed his fist into John's stomach, and the older man tried to pull his legs up gasping, but he was fixed hard against the wall. With a grin Dean flashed Sam a look over his shoulder. Sam was struggling futilely against the invisible bonds holding him penned against the wall. Dean grinned at him.

 

“Don’t worry, Sammy-boy. When I’m done with Daddy I’ll be along to finish with you.”  Dean lurched back as John jerked against the force holding him down. But his shoulders never left the wall.

 

"You gotta do better than that, old man."

 

Dean shoved his father back against the wall, and then kicked him in the leg. John drew his legs up as much as he could wincing in pain, and Dean kicked John again. Suddenly the force holding him place was released; John hit the floor and rolled over onto this back. His face twisted with pain John drew his foot back and kicked Dean in the knee. Dean's body swayed, but the demon snarled. John missed his chance for a second kick.

 

"What's the matter Daddy? Don't you get off on slapping the little boys around anymore?"

 

John staggered to his feet. He flinched, he had rarely spanked the boys, but there had been one or two days when he had been too absorbed in grief that he had taken it out on Dean.  Grimly John grasped at Dean's wrist maneuvering him into a wrestling hold, trying to immobilize the possessed younger man until he could make the demon release his hold on Sam.

 

The demon was far stronger than any human and John found himself flying through the air landing in a heap across the room. Dean dropped onto John's back and his long, slim fingers reached between his father's legs, grasping and twisting John's testicles. John screamed as a blinding white pain shot up his spine. He bucked trying to throw Dean off, but the younger man leaned down, licking the side of John's neck. 

 

"Uhmm, that's sweet, Daddy."

 

The pain crept up from John's groin to his belly, and he retched barely keeping his stomach under control. The demon rolled them over leaning down over John's face, his lips barely an inch from the older man's mouth. "How about some sugar for your baby boy, Daddy?"

 

John pushed upward, and mange to dislodge the demon, who howled in laughter. Only the fact that Dean had never called him Daddy, even as a child, kept John from losing his grip on reality. This was not his son hurting him. It was not his son who seemed hell bent on doing more than just hurt him.  John managed to lever his legs up, and kick Dean's body mid-chest. The demon was flung off, and John rolled onto his hands and knees trying to flee. The demon caught John by the leg, and then hauled itself bodily upward, fingers curling into John's belt. The leather snapped and the belt slipped free, and the fingers continued pulling at John until his jeans were down to his ankles. John kept clawing at the rough plank floor even though his fingers were slippery with blood. The splinters scraped his knees raw, but John crawled towards the door praying to be able to reach the Colt.

 

John kicked out again, but the demon grabbed both of John's legs slamming his back against the floor. The air rushed out of John's lungs leaving him gasping for breath. Dean's face loomed over him, and John winced. The demon grinned.

 

 "I've got a big surprise for you, Daddy."

 

With a growl the demon dragged John's shorts down, fingers clutching at John's groin. The pain was unbearable and John screamed again. The white hot fire raced up his legs, melting his spine, and John writhed in agony. The rough planking raked at the bare skin of his back and buttocks and still John tried to wriggle away. Sam could not see his brother doing this.  Dean's hand flashed between John's legs again and the older man tried to brace himself for the mind-numbing pain of having his balls crushed. But Dean's slender fingers slid over sweat soaked skin and past the public bone, sinking into John's body. John gasped; he shouldn't feel any internal pressure there. Desperately John tried to move back, the invasion was dry, painful and completely unfamiliar. 

 

From the gleeful grin on Dean's faced John was sure that his terror and confusion showed plainly. "Surprise!" the demon snarled. "I guess that makes you Mommy now."

 

   John gagged as Dean pulled his fingers free and unsnapped the fly on his jeans.

 

"Oh god no!" he cried out as Dean rose up, his dick incredibly red and swollen-- dripping fluid. "Please no don't…"

 

 John's voice broke as his son's penis rammed into him.  He couldn't help screaming then.  John tried to throw the demon off as Dean thrust into him, but he was helpless and his struggles only seemed to amuse the demon. Finally Dean came with a hoarse cry.

 

The sound of Sam’s body hitting the floor caused Dean to whirl around. His eyes wet with unshed tears he stumbled away from their father’s prone body. Leaping to his feet Sam snagged the Colt from the floor where it had fallen. Dean’s body arched back, bent, as the demon lifted him into the air. He managed to turn to Sam begging.

 

“Shoot it Sammy, shoot it now!”

 

The sound of the gun shot cut through the still air drowning out John's quiet sobbing and Dean's indrawn breath. The blast caught Dean squarely in the leg and he cried out dropping back onto the hard body beneath him.  The demon fled Dean's body in a dark cloud.

 

Sam bolted for the door again in time to see an owl swooping down out of the night sky. He raised the gun again, but the big bird turned on him.  As the talons raked at his face Sam dropped the gun, throwing an arm up to protect his eyes. The owl circled around once again then lit into the sky disappearing above the trees.

 

Dean became aware of several things at once. First the languor of a recent orgasm and the dull ache of over-stressed muscles.  The second was of heat radiating from the hard body lying beneath him. He had a vague memory of what had happened when the demon possessed him, and that the memories would return, probably, full force later that night. Dean was tempted to just lay still with his eyes closed, but he was aware of the labored breathing and tension in that warm body. And that impressed in him the need to move.

 

Taking a deep breath Dean opened his eyes and flinched in surprise. John tried vainly to stem the tears that slid down his face so that Dean would not have to see his father crying. Somehow John's effort to comfort his son left Dean cold. He leapt to his feet, and John reached out to Dean.

 

"Its okay, son."

 

 "Oh my god, what did I do to you?" Dean crumpled to the floor.  Taking a deep breath he watched as John struggled to his feet and staggered toward the wall, and a large mirror hanging above the fireplace.

 

"It wasn't your fault. Dean, you didn't do this. It was the demon." John said quietly.

 

Dean rose straightening his clothes, he couldn’t miss the scent of sweat and semen clinging to his flesh, couldn’t avoid the blood caked on his own body or that of his father.

 

"I raped you.” He said hollowly, his eyes dropping the floor.

 

Slowly he looked at the older man, at first he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing. But as his eyes took in the battered, bruised body his expression changed to one of shocked denial. John flinched, and he felt his face grow warm from shame and anger.

 

"I'm guessing that there is something different about me."

 

Sam slammed the door open, eyes shifting between his brother and his father. His eyes widened. "Holy shit."

 

"Language, Sam." John said harshly making his way unsteadily toward the far wall. Before he could reach the mirror hanging there Dean intercepted him trying to hold John back without touching him.  John shoved Dean away slightly, without much force, and turned to his younger son.

 

"What about the demon?"

 

Sam shook his head. "Gone, it went into an owl and flew off. I couldn't follow it. Dad you need to be in the hospital."

 

John shook his head. "No, no hospital. I'm, not bleeding all that much. It looks worse than it is. I think it's from--- I'll heal." He turned back toward the mirror and continued his shaky progress to the wall.

 

"Dad, maybe you should sit down. I mean you don't need to see… not right now."

 

   John shrugged him off. "I have to see. I have to know if I can still hunt."

 

Dean frowned jerking the older man around, and cringed at the hint of fear that he glimpsed before John shut it down. "I need to see." John said simply. Dean released his grip on his father's arm. John stumbled over to the mirror and paused transfixed.

 

Above the shoulders John looked pretty much the same, face a little softer, rounder cheeks, but still worn and haggard and bearded. He was naked from the waist down and an odd blend of male and female. He still had his penis, but beneath that were his balls would have been was nothing, a thin trickle of blood was still coursing down his thigh and John reached for the paper towels that Sam had brought in from the car. He swiped at his legs trying to clean himself up enough to get his boxers and jeans back on. 

         

John carefully avoided looking at the ripped tee-shirt and the faint hint of more rounded breasts beneath. "What the hell did he do to me?"

 

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Dad. It's like he made you half and half between a man and woman."

 

Nodding John finished cleaning up and began shrugging into his clothes. He pulled his jacket over the torn shirt. Dean was hanging at the back of the room propped against one wall, trying not to look at his father, but still stay close enough in case trouble showed up.  He clutched at his leg.

 

Sam quickly gathered the Colt, dropping in John's hand as the older man finished dressing. John shrugged into his jacket and tossed over his shoulder. "Sam, go see to your brother. He's going to need help walking. We need to get to a hotel so we can get him patched up."

 

The three men shoved their way out of the door, and headed to the Impala. John fumbled the passenger side door open, and slumped into the seat.  He dropped the Colt on the seat beside Sam with a ‘just in case’ look. Sam clawed the rear driver's side door open and shoved Dean inside. Dean started to fight him, but Sam slammed the door shut. "I'm driving." he hissed. Dean settled back against the seat.

 

Sam turned the engine over and pulled the car onto the road. "Don't worry, we'll get Dean fixed. There's an on-ramp to the freeway just a mile back this way. I'm going to hit the freeway over to Chelsea, it's just ten miles."

 

John nodded groaning. He wrapped his arms around his chest as if he might fall to pieces any minute. Sam glanced back at his father in the rear view mirror. John looked as beat as Sam could ever remember. Dean was lying on his side, facing away from the older man as if he had no right to even look their father in face. He winced as Sam's glance flicked from John to Dean.

 

"Look, it'll be okay. We still have the Colt, and we have one bullet left. We'll just start over…"

 

The world turned, screaming, as a black shadow fell across the Impala. The car slewed around as a Semi hit it mid cabin. The tires squealed and Sam vainly hauled the steering wheel around trying to bring the car straight in the road again. For a few seconds it seemed as if the car would respond but the truck's momentum carried it forward and the Impala rode the nose of the cab across the lanes and into the grass and dirt field just beyond the bend of the road.

 

Sam watched in horror as his father's body was lifted from the seat and slammed into the top. John's arm hit the roof and snapped with an audible sound. Sam retched. Dean rolled, his head coming in contact with the seat then he collided with John. 

 

Sam was flung backwards first, his neck wrenched, then his entire body flipped forward. He managed to fall sideways instead of being rammed against the steering wheel which would have crushed his ribcage, and probably killed him.

 

The car swung around in one last feeble arc and came to rest on the down slope of the hill. The engine churned futilely for a few minutes more before dying. Sam rolled himself upright the pain in his neck making him sick to his stomach. His fingers fell on the Colt and he pulled it into his lap weakly. Suddenly a shadow fell across the window and Sam winced.

 

The truck driver slammed his fist into the car's window sending shards of glass spilling around Sam's body.  He winced throwing up a hand to keep the glass out of his eyes. With snarl the driver managed to wrench one ham-fisted hand into the door handle and rip the door off the frame. He leaned in reaching for Sam.  The young man levered the Colt up and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the trucker dead-center in the chest, and the man's body levitated above the car.  A screaming sound rent the early morning air, and the trucker’s body was flung across the field. The blast from the demon force streaming out of the trucker's body flung Sam back onto the seat and he collapsed unconscious to the strains of music blasting from the now still Semi truck.

 

Sam came awake to the sounds of sirens and to flashing blue lights. He was laying on a stretcher, neck in a stiff white brace. He struggled to rise as one of the paramedics forced him back onto the board.  "Sir, you have to be still."

 

Sam pushed her hands away. "My father and my brother--how are they? I need to know if they're okay. "

 

  The paramedic pulled a strap across Sam's chest, securing him to the backboard and the     stretcher. "You have to be still…" she repeated.

 

Thrashing violently Sam jerked at the restraints. "I have to know if they're alive."

 

The stretcher was shoved into the back of an ambulance and they roared off toward the hospital.  The white walls of the building were all that Sam could see as the ambulance pulled into the parking lot. The two other vehicles carrying John and Dean were already parked and Sam could see them unloading the stretchers bearing his father and brother. Dean seemed to be moving a little, but John was still.  A creeping sense of dread enveloped Sam and he turned his head and vomited on the ground. The paramedics didn't make a sound. Quickly the woman pulled a cloth out and wiped Sam's mouth and face. He felt miserable and afraid. She smiled at him, a little sadly, and Sam felt that creeping sensation crawling along his spine.

 

It took four hours of testing before the doctors deemed Sam fit to be released. He shuffled around the waiting room, looking lost and forlorn enough that the nurses felt sorry for him and forced some valium and soda on him.  He sat stiffly, still in a little pain despite the drugs, watching as the doctors came and went from the examination areas to the right and left of the hall which held his father and brother, respectively. He could see Dean swathed in blankets with an IV hanging beside the bed and a heart monitor beeping a steady green light behind him. That made Sam feel a little better but the curtains were drawn around John's bed and two doctors stood outside the room talking in hushed tones for longer than Sam was strictly comfortable with.

 

Finally, Dean snuffled and turned his head wincing in pain. Sam's heart leapt and he was on his feet and into the room before his brother could move a second time. Dean looked up at him groggily and blinked. "So Sammy, what's up?"

 

Sam smiled gently, and patted Dean's arm. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. "The demon possessed a truck drive. He plowed into the Impala with his big rig, freaking totaled it."

 

Dean winced. "Ah Jeezus Sammy, please tell me--not my baby. Why did it have to be the car?" Suddenly Dean paused. Sam looked pale and drawn and it wasn't the Impala he was worried about. With a slightly panicked expression Dean tried to sit up.  "Dad? Where's Dad?"

 

Sam pressed him back against the bed. "He's in the room across the hall. But they won't let me see him, and they won't tell me anything." Sam watched as yet another white coated figure walked into the room across the hall disappearing behind the drawn curtains.

 

Two nurses were working diligently to bathe the patient. His bloody clothing had been deposited in a large plastic bag, and one of the nurses was pulling a white gown over the still figure's arms. She straightened the gown smoothing it over his stomach and pulling it down to cover him. The doctor motioned her to stop glancing down at the still blood stained thighs. "Drop the foot of the table and put up the stirrups."

 

The nurse looked questioningly at him. "Doctor?"

 

"You can't have failed to notice the odd physiology of the patient. I need to perform a vaginal exam. I want a rape kit done as well. I've already contacted the police and they're sending a CSI over to collect the specimens, as well as the victim’s clothing for testing."

 

The doctor settled on a stool at the foot of the exam table. He quickly and efficiently performed the necessary exams. When a woman in a beige suit entered the room he started to protest until she flashed her id and badge at him. She looked grimly down at the silent form on the table.  She took the neatly packaged kit from the nurse and the plastic bag of the victim's clothing. "Was…he?" she stumbled on the word and the doctor shrugged. "Was the victim raped?"

 

At the doctor's nod she tucked the bags under an arm. "I'll need to question him. Was there anyone with him? We need some kind of statement."

 

"His sons are here. They were all brought in together; a trucker t-boned their car on the freeway. The truck driver came in DOA."

 

The CSI nodded making notes in a pad. "Did he die from injuries sustained in the accident?"

 

"Nope, shot once in the chest, close range."

 

"I'd better talk to the sons then."

 

Sam watched as the tall, slender woman in a neat beige suit walked out of his Dad's room and into the hall. He rose tapping Dean on the leg. Dean looked at her and read ‘cop.’ Sam nodded his agreement with Dean’s unspoken assessment of the woman’s status. “You got a story that'll cover it all?" Dean asked quietly.

 

Sam nodded. "I've been working on it since we got here."

 

Wincing Dean tugged on his younger brother's arm. "It would be nice if I knew it, too."

 

"You were unconscious; you don't remember anything. I'll fill you in later. Just play possum until I get back to you."

 

Sam rose to his feet and tossed the paper cup he had been drinking from in the trashcan beside the door. He met the woman halfway across the hall. She smiled, "Are you Sam Cahill?" she asked hesitantly.

 

Sam nodded, wondering what ID his dad had on him when the car crashed. Cahill he could remember and it was nice that Dad had used their real first names.

 

"I'm Judy Steward, from the Crime lab. I need to ask you some things about the accident, and you're father's condition."

 

The way she said condition made Sam edgy, but he nodded. "Sure."

 

"You do know that your father was…" She hesitated, taking in his strained visage.

 

"Raped." Sam provided, and she looked grateful. "Yeah, that's why the trucker was following us."

 

"What happened?"

 

Sam launched into the story he had constructed and rehearsed mentally for the past three hours.  "We were driving to Chelsea, to see family—my dad's aunt died."

 

He tried to look suitably shaken, and it really didn't take much effort. "We had just gotten off the freeway looking for someplace to eat when we realized we couldn't find the on-ramp again.

 

 My dad told my brother to pull over so he could get a good signal on his cell phone, but he couldn’t so he wandered around behind this abandoned cabin. I guess the trucker was sleeping in the cabin and saw him. Dad was gone for quite a while, and my brother wanted to get on the road again so we went looking for him.

 

  When we went inside the cabin we saw the trucker had Dad down and he was …uhm…" Sam looked away trying for sad and pathetic. The woman squeezed his arm and he drew a deep shuddering breath. "The trucker was raping Dad. My brother and I pulled him off."

 

"I've been told that your brother was shot…"

 

"Yeah, the truck driver had a gun. He shot Dean in the leg, but I managed to wrestle the gun away from him. We ran back to the car. My dad and Dean got in the back and I took off. I guess the trucker followed us. I didn't even see it coming when the truck plowed into us."

 

"How did the truck driver get shot?'"  Judy asked. Sam looked over at her. This was the part of the story he had to be careful on.

 

 "After the truck hit us, we were all out for a little while. When I came too the driver was at the door, he pulled the door open and it was so loose it fell off. He grabbed me. I guess I panicked because I shot him in the chest." Sam looked at the middle-aged Sheriff's Deputy standing beside the door. Flinching he waited until the woman stepped away. The deputy moved closer.

 

"Am I going to jail?" Sam asked quietly.

 

"I don't think so, son. You did what you had to do to protect your family. After what that bastard did to your Daddy you had every right to fear for your life." The deputy patted Sam gently on the shoulder.

 

Sam nodded, looking away to hide the smile on his face. " _And the Oscar goes to Sam Winchester…"_ he thought snidely. _That covered everything, Dean being shot, the trucker being shot and Dad getting … hurt._   He’d fill Dean in on the details later.

 

“When can I see my dad?”

 

The woman smiled. “I think that they’re finished with him for now. I’ll ask the doctor if you can go in.”

 

Sam stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed. John laid still his chest moving just slightly with every shallow breath. His eyes were closed, and aside from the bruises, cuts and scrapes he looked fine. He didn’t hear the doctor come in behind him. In fact, he cringed and pulled away when the doctor’s hand fell on his shoulder.

 

The doctor actually cringed back from Sam when the younger man whirled. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“Uh, yeah, so what’s wrong with my father?”

 

“Well, that’s the problem. We don’t exactly know why he isn’t awake. He doesn’t

have any head injuries, no brain trauma.  He has the broken arm, it wasn’t even a compound fracture, and of course—well I’m sure this will sound odd, but he has vaginal trauma caused by the rape. But other than that he’s fine. No chest injuries, no fever--nothing to explain the coma.”

 

The doctor looked at Sam. “It could be psychosomatic because of the sexual assault, but he’s certainly very fit for a man his age, healthy enough that he should be awake.”

 

Sam nodded frowning. He glanced at the door across the hall; he could just make out the bottom of Dean’s body, and catch snatches of conversation as Dean flirted with the nurse.  The doctor’s gaze followed Sam’s. “Your brother is doing well enough. I think that he could be released tomorrow. He’s already asking to be let out, as he puts it.”

 

Thanking the doctor Sam ducked into the hall barely avoided colliding with the pretty, blonde nurse and sidled up to Dean’s bed. Dean shrugged at him grinning. “So what’s up with Dad? Did they let you see him?”

 

“It’s weird.  He should be awake according to the doctor. There’s not that much wrong with him--considering, but he’s in a coma.”

 

Dean sat up wincing. “It’s not weird, the demon followed us here. It’s got Dad somewhere. We need to find it.”

 

“How can we be sure, Dean? Maybe he’s just hurt worse than they think.”

 

“No, I’m telling you Sammy, this thing has dad. It took his soul…”

 

Sam shook his head. “It didn’t take his soul. His body is still alive. If it took his soul he’d be dead.”

 

Dean frowned holding up a hand to stall any further protests from his younger brother. “Then it just took part of his soul, maybe his consciousness or something. But it’s keeping him from waking up.”

 

“Why, Dean? Why would it do that?”

 

“Maybe it needs a bargaining chip—something to trade for what it wants.” Dean tapped his fingers on the bedside table. Sam paced around to the other side of the bed staring down at Dean’s upturned face.

 

“A bargaining chip for what? We don’t have anything it would want.”

 

Smiling grimly Dean jerked his head at the closet and the Colt still hidden in the inner lining of Sam’s jacket.  “The Colt is still in your jacket in the inside pocket. Maybe the demon wants the Colt.”

 

“Why, it’s useless. All the bullets are gone.”

 

“I don’t know. Just because all the bullets we had are gone doesn’t mean that there might not be more out there somewhere. Or maybe somebody can make more; find a spell to make new ones-- even better ones. The gun is still dangerous to any undead thing, any demon. That’s got to make it important enough to trade for.”

 

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “It might want something else, maybe Dad or us. Did you ever think of that?”

 

“I don’t think so. It has Dad, at least the important part of him—his mind. If it just wanted us it would have taken his soul like you said, just killed him. It’s waiting around for something else. Hey, Sam you look whipped why don’t you go get something to eat? They already fed and watered us.”

 

“You make it sound like a zoo.” Sam stared hard at Dean. He kept getting that edgy, crawling feeling along his spine. “Are you going to be okay?” He knew Dean was up to something, but hooked up to the IV and heart monitor it would be hard for him to do anything.

 

Dean sighed. “Yeah as good as I can be, I guess?” He waited until Sam was gone, then leaned over. It took only a few minutes to clamp the IV line and unhook the tubing from the cannula embedded in his wrist. He’s seen Dad and Bobby do it a number of times. He rose from the bed and quickly pressed the pause button on the monitor as he had seen the nurse do earlier when she had moved it. The machine subsided into silence and Dean pulled the white leads off his chest laying them on the bed for later.  Quickly Dean shuffled to the closet; he pulled on his jeans and tee shirt, then his brown leather jacket. He patted his jacket pocket smiling when his fingers fell on the tiny bulge hidden there, and pulled Sam’s jacket out of the closet as well, grateful that his brother hadn’t taken it. He fished the Colt out of the inner pocket and walked out the door.

 

Dean ducked into his father’s room and collected the black bag his dad habitually carried filled with oils, crystals and herbs for incantations. He checked the pockets of his dad’s jacket and retrieved a small black case filled with chalk.

 

He got lost once looking for a quiet place. The chapel was too full to do what he intended to do but he managed to liberate several candles in their little red glass holders, and the morgue was just too gross.  But on his way back to the hall Dean passed a door marked Boiler Room and decided that would fit the bill. He ducked into the dim, foul smelling room and headed as far back into the shadows as possible.

 

His stiff back, and dislocated shoulder slowed him, the sling hampering his movements, but Dean managed to drop the bag, and toss the chalk case onto the cold, cement floor. The rough surface of the cement took the chalk well and sigil was perfectly drawn. It took Dean a few minutes to grind the herbs he needed for the spell, and mix them with oil. When he was done he filled his father’s small pewter bowl with the syrupy green paste.

 

Carefully Dean lit the candles, one at each compass point. He placed the pewter bowl on the fifth circle on the sigil then fumbled in his pockets for matches. Before he lit the candles Dean took the Colt out of his pocket and groped through the opposite pocket. He triumphantly held a small object aloft, the dim light of the candles glinting on the silver topped bullet. He silently slipped the bullet into the chamber and snapped it closed.

 

Smiling Dean stuck a match. He dropped it into the green paste and the dish erupted in sickly green light. As the paste burned down the flickering phosphorescent glow lit the darkest corners of the room. Dean slapped his father’s journal down onto the cement floor and flipped through the pages. He settled on the page containing the summoning spell he wanted. His voice rose and fell on the phrases of Latin he was so used to hearing John chant.  “Nox noctis quod Rutilus Luna.  Audio ut Veneficus rune. Oriens tunc Meridianus, Occasus North. Audite adveho Ego dico thee continuo!”

 

The candles guttered and went out, as a cold wind swept through the room. The pages of John’s journal flipped over then the book snapped shut with a slapping sound. Dean struggled to his feet the Colt clutched in his hand.  He turned, his eyes sweeping the deepening shadows for a sign of the demon he sought to summon.

 

Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder and Dean whirled coming face to face with a short middle-aged man with sandy brown hair. The man smiled and Dean at first thought that he was a hospital employee come to chase Dean out of a restricted area. Then the man’s blue-green eyes glowed pale amber and Dean jerked back.

 

“You called me here, sonny. It’s your dime you might as well get your money’s worth.” The demon smiled motioning with a small crystal container he held cradled in one hand. The demon rattled the container in his hand and Dean’s eyes jerked to it. Inside the intricately carved glass vessel was a small yellow light, too small to be a candle. Dean was certain it was the spark of intelligence, the piece of soul or some bit of consciousness that was John Winchester.

 

Dean raised the Colt and the demon smiled. “If you shoot me, how will you get Daddy here back where he belongs?” He flipped the glass container in his hand. “What happens to Daddy if I drop this thing? Maybe he’s free, his spirit goes home, and maybe he dies. Do you know for sure?”

 

“I’ll take my chances. My Dad wouldn’t hesitate. He’d kill you in a New York minute.” But Dean’s hand trembled with the effort of holding the gun aloft. The demon cocked his head. “He’s been looking for you since you killed my mother.”

 

“Me --kill your mother, hold on a minute, boy. You’re condemning an innocent man.” The man’s bluff good-natured face swam before Dean’s eyes. “I’m just a soldier of the apocalypse.  The one you want is so far above me you couldn’t even stand in his presence.”

 

“And yet he sends some sniveling little ass-wipe like you to do his dirty work.”

Dean grinned and for once the demon seemed to fold in on himself. He cocked his head again, face grim. His fingertips fumbled the glass jar, it rocked on his palm and Dean held his breath.

 

“I’m not the one you’re looking for.” The demon said. “You and I, we’re just working for a higher power, drones carrying out orders. I have my Daddy and you have…oops… I guess I have your Daddy, too.” He grinned. “But I guess you’re here to strike a deal. I mean you look like a good solider coming to bargain for a prisoner release.”

 

“And maybe I just want to kill you.”

 

“Oh come on, you and I both know you’re willing to make a deal. You want Daddy back, really bad, too. Does little brother know how much you want Daddy…back?

What would he say if he knew the first time you felt the joy of solitary fulfillment was when you were twelve years old and Daddy thought you were asleep so he left he bathroom door opened in that seedy little motel? Does he know that you watched Daddy doing that little thing you thought nobody else in the world did but you?”

 

Dean cringed, felt his face grow hot from shame. Before he could stutter out a reply the demon continued. “In the cabin when you finally got to stick it in him, it was _so_ good for me—was it good for you too?”

 

“Shut up you bastard.” Dean raised the gun. The demon reared back then licked his lips.

 

“I know that there are no more bullets. You brother killed the trucker with the last one.” But he paused when Dean smiled. “You told your brother that was the last bullet.”

 

With a shrug Dean pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped out of the gun and hit the demon in the chest.   “I lied.”

 

The boiler room exploded in a whirlwind of blue light. The walls shuddered and the floor tilted beneath Dean’s feet. He hit the floor hard, and lay still, stunned, as the wind screamed and roared around him. The glass jar the demon had held tumbled to the ground fracturing into a thousand tiny shards. The light in the jar winked out. Dean lay staring at the twinkling glass and closed his eyes. He prayed that he had not just killed his father.

 

Sam was in the hallway walking back from the cafeteria when he heard a sound in John’s room. He screamed for the doctor when he saw his father’s body lying beside the bed. The IV line was ripped free and John was bleeding. Two nurses scrambled into the room. A third figure dressed in surgical scrubs shouldered Sam out of the way. He staggered back to the door, and then fell out into the hall. He heard a panting, wheezing voice behind and turned to find Dean standing the hall behind him.  "Dean, what are you doing out of bed?"

 

"Not now Sammy. Oh god, what did I do again." Dean shuddered and Sam grasped his arm, half holding his bother up. They watched in silence as the doctor and two nurses hauled John's limp body off the floor. One of the nurses hurriedly bandaged the bleeding vein in his left arm. The doctor ripped the front of the hospital gown open, replacing the leads on John's chest. He watched the monitor read flat. Quickly the second nurse, produce the defibulator and turned on the charging unit. The doctor barked an order for meds and the nurse produced a syringe stabbing it directly into John's chest.

 

"Clear..." the doctor called roughly. The paddles hit John's chest and his body convulsed.  The nurse shook her head. The doctor rubbed the paddles together and checked the meter. When the indicator swung to the voltage he wanted he pressed the pads to John's chest again. Suddenly the green line on the monitor jumped, it staggered a bit then settled into a regular rhythm.

 

Angrily the doctor turned on the nurses. "How did this patient get out of bed? I thought you said he was comatose. He should have been restrained. Did he have some sort of seizure?"

 

The nurses looked at each other, then at the bed when John coughed. A deep rumbling moan issued from his chest, and he opened his eyes. "Dean, Sammy” he whispered. One of the nurses burst into tears. She smiled pointing at the door. John turned his head as much as he was able. "Boys?"

 

In a flash Dean and Sam were beside the bed, one by each arm. They grasped their father's hands. Dean closed his eyes and exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for a very long time.

 

 

Dean unloaded the last of the bags from the grocery store out of the rented car. He looked at the gleaming red sedan with disgust. The remains of the Impala were safely tucked away at Bobby Singer’s junkyard and Dean fully intended to get over there as soon as he had Dad settled in the newly rented two bedroom apartment. It wasn't fashionable, but it was a damn sight better then they had had in years. He shook his head.

         

Sam had gone ballistic on the hospital administrators. It seemed that John had been left unattended against doctor's orders and for quite a while. Fishing every malpractice case he had ever read in the law library at Stanford out of his memory the admin staff had flinched when Sam started uttering phrases like "standard of care in the community" and "due diligence." Even Dean had been impressed. So had the hospital attorneys and they backed that up with a cashier's check.

 

So the Winchesters, actually the name on the lease was Cahill, moved into a furnished two-bedroom condo, in a mediocre neighbor in Chelsea, Kansas. The place was close to Bobby, and in a spiritual dead-zone. John had still spent two hours blessing it and drawing sigils over all the doors and windows anyway. 

 

Sam shuffled in with a bag slung over one wrist; both he and John were sporting matching casts. Sam sighed. "Freakin zombies, of all things…" he uttered once again.

John had prowled the living room like a caged tiger, and finally settled on making all the beds--one room with twin beds for the boys and one room with a double for him. Sam could hear John puffing and wheezing as he tried to wrestle the sheets into place. Suddenly John's rough voice shouted, "Son of bitch…"

 

He and Dean looked at each other and crept toward the room. John was cradling his arm against this chest his face wet with sweat, and clouded with anger. "That freakin' hurts."

 

"You took your sling off," Dean offered.  John snarled at him.

 

"I can't move my arm with it on."

 

Sam smiled. "Dad, that's kind of the idea." Dean shot him a look, and shook his head squeezing his brother’s good wrist. John glared and growled.

 

"Will one of you go turn on the air conditioning? It's hot in this place."

         

"Yes, sir." Dean said quietly. Sam cleared his throat. John glanced at him raising an eyebrow. He tugged the blankets up on the bed and stepped back to review his handiwork. It was lopsided but he didn't give a damn.

 

"Dad, I'm going to make some lunch. What do you want?"

 

"I don't care Sammy. You fix it, I'll eat it; you know I'm not particular."

John settled down on the bed and sighed. "Well hell." he said and got up tugging at the blankets again.

 

Sam hustled around the kitchen. Finally, he yelled down the hall. "Come and get it."

 

Dean and John appeared, and John slumped into a chair at the table. He lifted the sandwich Sam had placed on a plate and looked at it critically. "Dean are you sure this mayonnaise hasn't gone over?"

 

"I just bought it Dad, its fine." Dean drew a deep breath. John munched on the food for a minute then shivered.  He turned to the door.

 

"Will one of you boys shut that air conditioner off? It's freakin' freezing in here."

John snapped. Dean just gaped at his father.

 

"Dude, you just asked us…"

 

"First of all, I'm not a dude, and I said it's too cold in here. You understand?"

 

"Yes sir, I'll go." Sam said. He tapped Dean on the shoulder and his brother abandoned his chair. When Dean strolled into the living room Sam was at the thermostat. He was facing the wall, shoulders shaking. At first, Dean thought Sam was crying, but when he spun his brother around he could see Sam was shaking with silent laughter.

 

Dean snorted trying not to smile himself. "Dude, Dad is going nutcase on us. I don't think that's funny."

         

Shaking his head Sam coughed then hiccupped a little. "He's not going nutcase. He's been like this three weeks; actually I mean it's been three weeks since the cabin. Since the demon did his number on Dad.  Jess used to get like this just before…well you know, her time of the month."

 

Dean blinked, he had to admit that he was not the brightest crayon in box, but this was incomprehensible.  "Ewww, Dude! We have seen some weird-assed crap since Mom died, but Dad with PMS is at the top of a whole new list."

 

Sam sighed. "Yeah and if he has PMS today, it's not going to too long before he has…you know…before." He faltered and his voiced died out. Dean's eyes widened. He coughed then grinned ear to ear.

 

"Holy shit, you mean Dad is getting a period?"

 

There was a shuffling sound in the hallway and both young men turned. John was standing in the door, his face blank. Sam punched Dean on the arm. "Way to go, you could be more subtle."

 

Quickly he moved across the room, and touched John's arm. "Dad?" he asked. John just stood staring at the wall. Sam shot Dean a dirty look. Sam touched John’s arm again. "Dad, dad….Daddy?"

 

That one word drug John from the haze surrounding him as it had so many times in the past twenty-three years. He stared into the troubled eyes of his youngest child. Finally, he smiled grimly.  Sam drew a ragged breath. "Its okay, Dad. We'll take care of it. I'll go to the drug store and get it fixed up, okay? I used to do it for Jess all the time."

 

"Drug store?" John repeated numbly.  “Get what fixed?”

 

Then he realized what Sammy was talking about. He cringed. John had always been eternally grateful that both of his children were male. Not once in the past twenty-three years had he ever uttered the words "menstrual period" or "tampons" now it looked as if he was going to be a lot more familiar with both than he ever wanted to be. All things considering that really didn't surprise him as much as it should have.

 

 

Dean coughed as a billow of black smoke spewed out of the Impala’s engine and enveloped him. Waving a hand in the air he wiped his sleeve over his runny nose and snorted. Bobby hauled himself out of the driver’s seat and walked over to look down at the engine shaking his head. “This is going to take some doing, getting this thing up and running again.”

 

“Thing? This is my baby you’re talking about.” Dean snapped. “We’re going to have to pull the carburetor.”

 

Bobby nodded. “The gas tank gave a little and the fuel lines too. I’ll bet there’s gas all in the oil and filter, and in the exhaust pipe. The way she’s smoking.”

 

Sighing Dean settled back against the hood, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well, the axles are okay, and the chassis is squared up okay. That was a hell of a job. The body work is easy when we get to it.”

 

“We should get John down here to work on it.” Bobby smiled. “How’s the old man doing anyway?”

 

Dean smiled. “Dad doesn’t do sit and wait very well. He’s working at a garage in town. As soon as the cast came off his arm he was out the door.”

 

“That sound’s about right.” Bobby grinned again. Dean slapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Besides I told him we were going to work on it. A little godfather/godson kind of bonding.” Bobby snorted and Dean laughed. Looking at his watch Dean tossed the rag onto the hood of the Impala. "I got to go, I'm cooking tonight. Dad's been a little distracted lately, and God knows I don't want him to try and get all domestic in the kitchen. I want to live a little while longer."

 

 

John paced the confines of the bedroom. He picked up a cup and almost dropped it; his hands were shaking so badly. Sam was gone, down at the library. He was working part time and had managed to work up the nerve to tell John that he was going on a date with a girl that worked there as well. He thought this down time was good for Sam, good for both the boys, but John was slowly going insane.  He was restless, nervous. At first he thought that he might be getting a period again, but it had only been two weeks and he was reasonably sure that it wasn't going to happen again that soon. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror on the dresser. His face was flushed, he felt irritable, and he was horny. He had even had a wet dream the night before, the first one he had had in twenty-two years.  His jeans seemed to ride in the soft folds between his legs, and he felt a hot flash of rising pressure washing over him.

 

In the garage in town earlier one of the younger men working there had bent over John's shoulder, his groin resting against John's hip, and John had felt a flash of heat coiling into his belly and running down his thighs. He had been horrified when he realized he was "wet" down there.

 

Panting John grasped the dresser with both hands, bending over he groaned. His body jerked as the seam of his jeans rode up. Gasping John slipped his hand down and popped the button fly on his jeans. He pushed his pants down over his thighs; he tugged his boxers down, and stroked his cock. Moaning he pumped up and down a few times, but that wasn't what he wanted. He pushed his fingers down slipping the tip of his middle finger into himself, but he couldn't get it in deep enough. Frustrated he groaned he shifted his stance and tried again. Nothing was working. He felt empty. With a grunt he dropped his head onto the dresser.

 

A soft noise behind caused John to start. He looked into the mirror and paled. Dean was standing in the bedroom door, looking somewhere between shocked, freaked out, and something else that John didn't want to try and define. "God, Dean. I'm sorry. It's just….I don't know what's wrong. I feel really strange. I don't know what to do. Nothing is helping."

 

"Its okay, Dad. You look like you might have a fever. I think that the demon gave you a gift that keeps on giving. This has got to do with what happened… It’s a curse; you know physical needs… along with the physical changes." Dean replied wincing at bringing up the memory of that night in the cabin, of the night he had raped John. He crossed the room, and lifted a hand to the older man's forehead. John flinched away from the touch but Dean pressed closer. Slowly he pressed his hand to the warm brow. John whimpered and leaned into the touch.  "It's going to be all right, Dad. I can help you with this, if you'll trust me. After what I did, can you let me help you?"

 

"Of course, I trust you. You've been my back-up all your life."

 

"Then come on over to the bed." Dean helped John tug his jeans up, and they walked over to the bed. Dean climbed on and pulled John up with him. "Lay down."

John complied. Dean touched his father's forehead again. The heat radiating from John's body was frightening. But the warm, soft glow in his eyes was even more compelling.

Dean leaned over unbuttoning the buttons on John's shirt. John shuffled back a little.

 

"Dean this is wrong." he whispered. But Dean fisted the front of John's shirt and pulled him closer. John swallowed, and Dean dipped his head down, letting his lips trail over John's collarbone. John hissed. "Dean, please don't. I can't stop so you have to…I don't want to take advantage of you. All those years you were growing up. I never thought about touching either of you boys like this. I never meant to make you think…If I did anything that made you feel this way. God, I'm sorry."

 

"I know Dad." Dean said softly stroking his fingers through John's hair. "You didn't do anything Dad. This is all me. You know Sam and I both love you. I just happen to love you in a different way than he does."

 

"Dean please, I can't."  But John moaned as Dean's mouth moved along his chest, teeth grazing on the curve of his neck. John turned his head, and Dean's lips touched his mouth. With a sigh John opened, letting Dean in. Dean's fingers worked the shirt off John's shoulders and tossed it into the floor. He pulled away just long enough to strip his own tee shirt off. John's jeans were still unfastened and he shimmied out of them. Dean quickly undressed. His mouth fastened on John's again. Then he pushed the older man back. John's head fell on the pillow and he watched as Dean lipped his way down John's chest, pausing over one small, hard breast.

 

Embarrassed John mumbled. "There's not much there. Not like you're used to."

Dean grinned and sucked a pink nipple into his mouth. John swore softly, and Dean chuckled.

 

"Hey, anything more than a mouthful is wasted." Dean said and John snickered, burying his face in Dean's hair. He drew a deep breath, Dean smelled of motor oil, and smoke and something that sent a shiver down John's spine. John closed his eyes for a moment, until Dean moved away from his nipple and dipped his tongue into John's navel, tracing the whorl with wet licks. John's stomach jumped and he laughed.

 

Gently, Dean stroked up John's thigh, until his fingers slipped into the warm center of John's body. John's eyes popped open. Before he could protest Dean's mouth descended on the tip of John's cock and John groaned. "Holy shit!"

 

With his body pinned between the fingers inside him, and the warm mouth surrounding him John did the only thing he could. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he came, fingers clenched in Dean's hair.

 

Smiling Dean pressed his hands against John knees, and John obediently spread his legs. Marveling at how compliant his father was being Dean slid his legs between John's thighs and leaned down. He sheathed himself in John in one long stroke. John grunted and clutched Dean's shoulders with trembling hands.

 

"Oh god, you're so tight." Dean groaned and John flushed deep crimson.

 

"You're the only one who's been in there."  John stammered. He shifted sliding his hands over the smooth planes of Dean's back. Dean rose to his knees then began plowing into John as hard and fast as he could. With a groan John grasped the underside curve of the younger man's butt and pushed. Dean made a strangled sound, and thrust hard once before emptying himself inside John. Sighing Dean dropped onto John's broad chest.

 

"Oh, man." Dean nuzzled the wiry hair beneath his cheek. "I'll get off you in a minute."

 

Suddenly both men heard a sound in the hallway outside the bedroom. John rose up as much as he could with Dean still lying on top of him, but all he could see was the door, not the hallway beyond. The door that Dean had neglected to close all the way.

 

Dean pushed himself up, and slipped out of bed. Quickly he grabbed his boxers and jeans struggling into the clothes as he scrambled across the room. John rolled off the bed; quickly he tugged on his jeans, and pulled open the drawer in the night table. He tossed Dean a leather sheath with a large hunting knife in it, then pulled out the Glock semi-automatic he habitually kept beside the bed. With his other hand he seized a bottle of holy water. Nodding he paced Dean just a few steps to the right and slightly behind.

 

Pulling the knife out of the sheath and tossing the leather scabbard aside Dean kicked the door open, slamming it against the wall knocking a hole in the plaster.

He leapt into the hallway brandishing the knife. Suddenly, Dean's shoulders slumped. Sam was sitting in the hall his knees bent, arms wrapped around his legs. His face was wet with tears.

 

"God, Sammy. I could have killed you. Dad and I thought you were gone."

 

"That's pretty evident, Dean. What the hell is going on? What the hell were you thinking or were you thinking at all?" Sam snarled. John appeared in the hall.  He had buttoned his shirt and left the gun behind. Sam took one look at his father, and launched himself off the floor. He swung at John, slamming his fist into his father's cheek. John's head jerked back and he staggered. Before he could regain his balance Sam punched John in the face again, splitting his lip. John lost his balance completely and fell. Sam started to kick him, but Dean slammed into his younger brother's back, bringing him down. They fell in a heap beside their father. Denied the opportunity to strike out at John Sam resorted to verbal abuse. "You sick, disgusting bastard…"

 

Dean shouldered his way between the two, "Shut up, Sam. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I forced myself on Dad? That I was the one who took advantage of Dad being cursed. Hell, I practically raped him again."

 

"No! Dean that's not true. You did that for me, because of me…" John looked at Sam's disbelieving face. His younger son turned on John with a frown, but Dean collapsed on the floor beside Sam. He put his head in his hands groaning.

 

"Dad, you asked me to stop three times and I just kept going. I wanted it and not just because I wanted to help you. You want to know something Sammy, the demon made me rape Dad in the cabin because he knew. He read my mind and knew I wanted Dad a long time ago, and he did this because he knew what it would do to us. We're stronger together and this is damn good way for him to break us apart."

 

Sam looked at Dean reluctantly. "Dad could have said no…"

 

"I told you, he did say no. But he would have died Sam, if he hadn't let me help him out. He was burning up, some kind of fever. I think it would have consumed him."

 

John nodded, and Sam leaned back against the wall. "Burned up, like consumed by what passion, lust? It has to be some kind of a curse."

 

"Yeah, that's what we thought. Its like he had to have sex."

 

Sam looked like he wasn't buying it. He glared at Dean. "Couldn't he have just…you know?"  Sam made a gesture in the air, curling his fingers loosely and jerking his hand up and down. John's face went livid red. Looking like he wanted to crawl under the floor John shrugged helplessly.

 

"I tried that." He heaved a deep sigh. "I've been trying that for a couple of days now. I can't…finish."

 

Dean snorted. "So you have trouble…flying solo, but come on, Dad, you went off like a rocket when I got my fingers up your…"

 

"God! Dean." Sam said. "I'm already traumatized enough for one day."

 

John put his hands over his face. His shoulders shook. Sam and Dean looked at each other in dismay.  Sam jerked his head at Dean and the older man gently put his hand on their father's arm. He pulled John's hand away expecting tears, but John was laughing

uncontrollably. Dean smiled, and Sam rolled his eyes.

 

"So how long before Dad get's hot and bothered again? Will it work every time or will it get worse. We need to do some research." Sam rose shakily, putting a hand down he tugged Dean to his feet. "What are we going to do first?"

 

Dean shrugged "You take care of the research, and I'll take care of fucking Dad. It'll be a huge sacrifice, but if I fuck him enough maybe it won't happen again."

 

Sam cringed, and John glared at the boys' backs as they disappeared down the hall. He gingerly touched the cut in his lip wincing at the pain. "Dean… Sam, don't I have say in all this?" He sighed struggling to his feet and looking around the empty hallway. "Well, ain't this a bitch."

Dean shivered grumbling under his breath. The early morning air was cold, and the cemetery was damp—they were always damp. He was never sure if it was cold and damp because they built the cemetery there or they had built the cemetery there because it was cold and damp. He fumbled the gun he was carrying into the other hand and blew warm air on his palm. Dean hunched down in his jacket a little bit further. He stared down at the freshly turned dirt on the grave at his feet. Across the line of graves and just a few yards away he could see Sammy huddled over against the wall of a small mausoleum. He was seated on the marble walkway surrounding the building feet resting on the sod of the older graves just adjacent to the walk.  His shot gun rested across his knees.

 

Farther down and diagonal to Sam was the bulky form of their father. It was still too dark to make out his features plainly, but Dean could see the shot gun he carried resting lightly on one thigh. John's fingers were tapping a staccato beat against his other leg.

 

Dean signed. This was the third night they had spent camped out in the graveyard. Since the first reports of grave robbing and mutilated corpses had surfaced on the news they had been coming to the cemetery each night. John maintained that it was just a couple of garden variety ghouls. Only the first two bodies had disappeared from the morgue so now they were looking for four of the nasty little bastards instead of two.  Dean shuffled around again. Ghouls were carrion eaters, haunting graveyards looking for the graves of the newly dead. They were an off-shoot of zombies, but quicker and smarter. He wasn't particularly concerned about the ghouls; they rarely attacked the living, unless the living happened to attack them first.

 

A sudden movement caught Sam’s attention and he looked at John. His father was sitting upright now, shoulders rigid. John had hunter's ears, and if he was scanning the horizon it meant he had heard something. Sam glanced over and Dean was standing up also scanning the grounds. Something was coming. Sam rose to his feet raising the gun. He pressed his back against the wall of the mausoleum cocking his head.  There was a snuffling sound from the rear and to the right of his position. He jerked his gun toward the sound. Dean caught the movement and nodded fading back behind a large tombstone a few feet away from the new grave.

 

Two figures appeared on the dirt path leading from the wooded area beyond the gate. They were short, bent, long fingers twisting almost constantly. Sam caught a whiff of something unpleasant. He frowned revolted. God, the thing about ghouls was the smell. His stomach rolled. 

 

The two ghouls stumbled past him heading toward the fresh grave and the scent of the newly interred body inside. Dean slid back watching their shambling advance. The ghouls paused heads cocked. They were somewhat sentient and could sense, if not see, the humans nearby. But live human flesh held no interest for them, and they chose to ignore the scent in favor of the tantalizing aroma of meat beneath the ground.

 

Sam stepped out of the cover of the mausoleum and flicked the safety off the shot gun. He leveled the gun and moved to squeeze the trigger. Suddenly, a figure shot out of the shadows, hitting him squarely in the back. Sam‘s arm bent and the shot went wild, hitting the tombstone sheltering his brother. Dean shot him a look, but jumped out raising the .45. He snapped off one clean shot, hitting one of the ghouls in the chest. It shattered sending a wave of decomposing blood and flesh over Sam. Grunting Sam raked the graying sludge off, retching at the odor.

 

John saw the ghouls coming up the path behind Sam when his youngest son stepped out. He uttered one quick cry then hit the ground running. The bulky shapes of granite grave markers slowed his progress as he dodged around them. Dean’s first shot took out the ghoul closest to Sammy and John sighed. Raising his own gun he drew a bead on one of the ghouls advancing on Dean. The second ghoul whirled around leaping over the tombstone and coming at John. The creature was fast, faster that he had anticipated, and still more human looking than the two ghouls that they had killed. This one must be one of the new ones, one of the two mutilated bodies infected by the original ghouls.

 

Her fingers raked out at John, and his ankle twisted as he dodged the blow. He stumbled but regained his footing before the ghoul could strike out again. Dean turned torn between Sam and his father. But Sam was holding his own, clubbing the fourth ghoul with the shot gun and sending it sprawling to the ground.

 

Taking a breath Dean raised the .45 and brought it bear on the back of the ghoul, but she was jumping around, jerky movements bringing her too close to his father. If Dean shot at the ghoul and missed, the shot would hit John.

 

John was cussing a blue streak, whether at his twisted ankle or the ghoul, Dean couldn’t tell.  John hobbled backwards and slammed the shot gun across the ghoul’s face. She went down and Dean finished her with a single shot. Blood and gore splattered his father and John growled at his older son. Dean lifted an eyebrow and grinned. From behind him he could hear the final gunshot as Sam put down the last ghoul.

 

Sam was grumbling under his breath when he came up to the fire pit Dean and John had dug in the woods a few hundred feet behind the tree line. He dragged the body of the last ghoul up to the pit and tumbled it in.  John tossed rock salt onto the last body, and Dean began washing them down with gasoline. Sam picked up the second gas can, and splashed the contents onto the pile of decayed flesh. When he was satisfied that the ghouls were covered well Dean dropped the gas can onto the ground, and lit a match. The pile of bodies erupted into flames. Sam ducked his head. “Uh, dude, I thought these things stank when they were alive, but man they really stink when they’re dead.”

 

John looked up from the fire pit at his younger child. “They weren’t alive, Sam.”

 

“You know what I meant.” Sam muttered frowning at his father. He diligently scraped the ghoul blood and tissue off his clothes and slung it into the flames. It sizzled brightly.  Sam frowned again. Dean edged closer to his younger brother. He sniffed experimentally.

 

“Dude, you’re really rank. You’d better get that sh…” he glanced at John. “Crap off. I’m not letting you in the car if you don’t.”

 

Sam glared at him. “Why don’t you tell Dad he stinks, too? He’s got just as much crap on him as I do.”

 

 “He can’t walk home; he has a bum ankle.” Smiling Dean edged closer to Sam dropping his voice into a stage whisper that he was sure that John could still hear.  He threw a companionable arm over Sam’s shoulders apparently no longer offended by the odor. “Besides I’m planning on getting laid tonight.” Dean said just to see Sam squirm. He wasn’t disappointed.

 

John slapped Dean’s arm off Sam’s shoulders, and grunted. “Yeah, plan again.”

 

When they got back to the Impala, Sam stripped off his shirt turning it inside out. He still smelled, but at least none of the goop would rub off on the seats. Dean silently pulled the car into the road and headed for the apartment. As the tail lights flashed briefly in the distance, a lone figure crept onto the road, eyes gleaming in the darkness.

 

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John was drifting in a haze, just on the edge of sleep, when he heard the bathroom door bang open. Sam had showered and gone to bed after he and Dean had finished stowing the weapons in the trunk of the Impala, bringing in the guns they wanted to clean later in the morning. He felt, as well as heard, the soft tread of Dean’s bare feet whispering over the carpet in the hallway. The footsteps paused by the bedroom door receded then came back again. He almost hoped they would keep going. But the bedroom door swung open. The footsteps quickened as if Dean was afraid that John would throw him out. John held his breath as the bed dipped, and a warm body slid in behind him.

 

Dean came awake sweating heavily. He was blanketed in his father’s body, John’s legs and arm slung over the younger man’s chest and thighs. Dean twisted managing to free his legs; John snorted and rolled onto his back. Dean looked down at the older man, and then rose up onto his knees staring. His father looked different. Gently he reached out turning John’s face so that he could get a good look in the soft late morning light coming in the window. John had shaved a few days earlier so he had only a couple of days of stubble, not the full beard Dean had become accustomed to, but even so Dean could see that the gray that normally streaked his father’s facial hair was absent. The beard stubble was softer and fully brown.

 

Turning John’s head again Dean noticed that the thinning spots at both of his father’s temples were filled in again and the gray that shot through his hair was gone replaced by golden highlights. John’s skin was clearer, the seams and lines not as deeply etched.

 

“Holy, shit!” Dean gasped hoarsely. John came awake with a start rolling over to grab for the gun on the night table. He missed the gun and slid off the bed landing in a heap beneath the window. Dean choked back the laughter bubbling in his chest, and leaned over.

 

“Dad, you okay?”

 

John glared. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

 

“No, sorry about that, it’s…just. Have you looked at yourself lately?”

 

John huffed out a breath, shot Dean a look that clearly conveyed that he thought his oldest son was losing his mind and sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about? I look at myself every morning, why?”

 

“No Dad, you don’t really look. Come over here to the mirror.” Dean stood up, completely oblivious to the fact that he was still naked, motioning for his father to follow. John reluctantly went along with him. They stood in front of the dresser Dean facing the mirror and John facing Dean. Finally, Dean shoved John around. “Look, you’re younger.”

 

“I’m not younger…” John stopped transfixed by the image in the mirror. The man standing next to Dean no longer looked old enough to be his father. John gaped at the image of his younger self. “I’ll be damned.”

 

Dean slid his hand up John’s arm tilting his head to one side. John followed the movement. Dean finally asked, “Do you think this happened in the cabin, or do you think you’re getting younger all the time?”

 

“Hell if I know. I never noticed. We’ll just have to keep an eye out. I hope that Sam can come up with something at the library.”  John shrugged as if there was no point in worrying about something they couldn’t do anything about anyway. Smiling Dean slid his hand down his father’s arm, and brushed his fingertips over John’s ribs. John flinched. “Don’t even think about it, Dean.”

 

Dean’s grin widened. John didn’t sound angry so much as he sounded pissy meaning that Dean had a lot of leeway in this particular situation. It had always amused the hell out of Dean that John Winchester, the great demon hunter, could be felled by the mere application of fingers to ribs. He dug in, and John spit out a curse. John popped the heel of his hand into Dean’s solar plexus, not hard enough to do any damage but enough to hurt. The breath whooshed out of Dean’s body in a grunt. But he dodged the blow enough that it didn’t knock him down. He stepped up and under John’s arm, getting his fingers under the older man’s armpit and tugging on the dark curls of hair. John grimaced. “That’s a dirty blow. You shave yours.”

 

 John managed to pull free at the expense of a little body hair, and kicked his foot into the back of Dean’s knee. Dean went down then, but he maintained his grip on John’s arm, and his father went down as well.

 

Dean tried to roll, but John had the physical high ground and fifteen pounds on his son. Dean ended up on his back with John’s knee pinning one of his thighs in place. With a grunt Dean reached up and jerked John’s boxers down. John just shrugged and smiled rising up enough that they slipped down to his ankles.

 

 “I’ve fought bare-assed naked before. Don’t think that’ll stop me.”

 

John rocked forward slamming Dean’s wrists to the ground and pinning his hips between John’s knees. “You’ll have to do better than that, boy.”

 

Dean planted his feet firmly on the ground and tried to buck the older man off. John pinched his knees tighter against his son’s side, and Dean grimaced subsiding, with a grin John dropped onto Dean's body, and then froze when he realized that Dean was rock hard. Taking a breath John considered his options, he could let Dean win, but something about that really irked him; so he went for the kill. Spreading his legs a little he rocked letting the full length of Dean’s dick slide through his warm cleft. Dean gasped.  “Now who’s fighting dirty?”

 

“Hey, remember what I always told you--maximize your advantages, and use what ever you’ve got.” With a grin John slid upward just to watch Dean squirm. He smirked at his son, then rocked backwards and forwards a few times, but froze again as the head of Dean’s cock slipped inside him. Dean could sense John’s hesitation, and quickly seized his father’s hips before John could move away. Dean pulled down and back and immediately he was fully sheathed inside John’s body.  Steadying himself with his hands on Dean’s shoulders John muttered. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“It’s okay, just ride me.” Dean slipped his hand between them grasping John’s dick. His father blossomed beneath his hand, and he groaned. John used Dean’s strokes as a guide and fell into a steady rhythm that was sheer nirvana.

 

They were showered, dressed and eating pizza when Sam got back from the library. He dumped the books he was carrying on the table and helped himself to a slice eating out of the box instead of going for a plate. He scarfed down the pizza and grabbed a bottle of beer taking a long swallow. Finally, he said. “I think that I found something. It’s a ritual performed for the Egyptian goddess Bastet the protector of the home and pregnant women, at least as close as I can figure. The priests used this incantation on girls being married off by their fathers in arranged marriages. It’s to make sure that the bride performs her wifely duty in the sack and conceives an heir.”

 

“I swear to God, if either of you so much as cracks a smile…” John leaned forward glaring at both his sons. Dean reached out taking his father’s hand, petting him.

 

“I wouldn’t think of it…honey.”

 

The fingers of John’s other hand clenched on the bottle, and Sam got ready to duck. Just in case. He glared at Dean. “Cut it out. You know what, Dean? You don’t have a free ride in this thing either.”

 

“Why am I not surprised?”

 

Sam shuffled around in his chair and dragged one of the books over. He skipped through the pages. “The spell was created by priests in a patriarchal society so it was made to favor the man…ehr…husband. But Bastet equaled the playing field in favor of the women. The male can’t…perform… with anyone else and in a society where men could have multiple wives it made the incantation pretty rare.”

 

John took the book from his youngest son glancing through the pages Sam had marked. “So how do we counter it?”

 

Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t say. As far as I can tell you can’t, but it should fade a little--in time. You won’t die, but you’ll still need sexual activity regularly or you’ll be pretty miserable.  And even if you break the spell the physical changes won’t go away. That’s a whole new story--a transmogrification spell, heavy duty black magic. And the only way to counter it is to bathe in the blood of virgins and perform a few other rituals, all equally nasty--at least for the aforesaid virgins.”

 

Dean took the book as his father put it back on the table. “You said this Bastet was Goddess of the home and pregnant women, so isn’t she a good goddess?”

 

“She can be, but she has a nasty side, too. She wiped out a lot of the Pharaoh’s army when he pissed her off. I know that the spell was often used by older women who couldn’t have kids; it was supposed to have rejuvenating effects. There's not a lot about that though. And that reminds me, she’s also a fertility goddess so you should be…careful.”

 

“Careful?” John echoed. Sam nodded.

 

“Yeah, if the female is of childbearing age, pregnancy is pretty much guaranteed.”  Sam pointed to the relevant passage in the book. “Childbearing age meaning twelve to forty-five years.”

 

Sam didn’t miss the uneasy glance that Dean and John traded. “But that only talks about women, what about men. Is there any record of both these spells being used on men?” Dean asked.

 

“Yeah, and you’re not going to like it. The few supposed accounts of the spells being used in conjunction did pretty much what it’s done to you. There isn't any real information available after that. Dad, it looks like you're stuck the way you are now, at least for a while, until we can come up with an alternative way of breaking the transmogrification spell. And for the thing…you know with Dean, it’ll get better but for now you two just have to—do it pretty regularly, and be careful."

 

John shrugged, "Even if the spell did knock off about 10 years, I'm still around forty-two. It's pretty unlikely that anything would happen."

 

Dean sighed. "Yeah but didn't Grandma Jo get pregnant with you at the same time that Aunt Maggie got pregnant with Jack?" John sighed nodding; he was the youngest of six kids and was exactly three days older than his oldest sister's son.

 

Sam thumped the book down on the table again, and grunted. "God I knew it, we are the Brady Bunch from hell!"

 

 

John settled back against the pillows. He balanced a book on his chest and looked around as the door swung open. Dean was standing in the hall. John sighed, and then motioned him into the room.  Noting John's expression Dean asked, "Am I bothering you?" He settled on the foot of the bed.  John shook his head.

 

"No, it's not you, it's this whole thing. Dean I need to ask you what did I do when you were growing up that made you feel this way about me. It's not normal."

 

Lying down beside John, Dean huffed out a breath. "Dad nothing about our lives has been normal since Mom died." He glared at John. "Why is it so hard for you to accept that you didn't do anything? That I'm just made this way? You were a good father—not great sometimes, sometimes the best dad a guy could have. You did the best you could with the situation that got dumped on us. And you know what's not normal—a family burying a three year who had the blood sucked out of him by a vampire or a bitch ghost that rips people's eyes out of their heads or maybe a demon who kills women and burns up their house and cripples their families with all the shit they have to deal with. Dad, that's not normal. I don't give a damn what any of those people outside say. They call me loving you this way abnormal. But we deal with stuff that is so wrong, so twisted, that they don't even want to believe it exists. We're all we have, just the three of us."

 

"Yeah, but Sammy doesn't feel this way about me. Why do you?" John closed the book, and jumped, startled when Dean stroked his shoulder. John rolled over hesitated just slightly and bumped up against Dean's side. Dean draped his arm over John's chest, both of them lying back. "When did you first start thinking about…this?"

 

"Dad, can't you just give it a rest?' Dean sighed. His mind flickered back to that day in the hotel room when he was twelve, but if John heard that story he'd go ballistic and then he would definitely blame himself and call the whole thing off. So Dean hedged his bets a little. "Right after Sammy left for Stanford."

 

"That biker gang that was a pack of werewolves?" John asked. Dean shook his head.

 

"A little after that--the Geists."  Dean shuddered a little at the thought, and in a few minutes he felt John's jaw tighten as his mouth drew up in a thin line of distaste. John sat up, pushing Dean off his chest. "I remember…"

 

_Dean stood in the shadow of the rock wall surrounding the pasture. He could see his father just a little farther up the path. The trees were thick and very little moonlight penetrated the underbrush, but the twilit sky was still filled with the last thin rays of light from the streetlamps just beyond the cemetery gates. Suddenly, John paused and Dean drew himself up eyes scanning the horizon. Just across the thin expanse of the little cemetery two hulking figures were stalking them. Dean smiled and raised the gun._

_The Geists were slow, stupid and remarkably easy to kill, but they also stank to high heaven. In fact the billowing clouds of yellow gas that gushed out of the dying creatures were so noxious that Dean's stomach was roiling as they salted and burned the bodies. The vapor surrounded them permeating their clothes, skin and hair._

_They made it back to John's truck before his father bent over and vomited up everything he had eaten for dinner and half a thermos of coffee. Dean stood back trying not to look, but as soon as John made that horrible retching sound Dean gave in and puked, too._

_They had to stop three times on the way back to the motel and by then the truck was so filled with the odor of Geist blood and their vomit that they had to practically hang their heads out the windows._

_Dean kicked open the door stripping off his jeans and shirt as he entered the room. John shamelessly stripped naked on the landing and tossed his clothes in a pile on the cement walkway. Dean passed his clothes out and John dropped them in the pile._

_"Get me a plastic bag; I'll wash these after I get cleaned up. You hit the shower, but hurry I don't think I can take this smell any longer." John said. Dean retrieved a plastic garbage bag and handed to his father._

_The shower was fairly large considering how small the room was. They had even had to resort to sharing a bed. John had bitched, at great length and very loudly about that, but the clerk had told them in no uncertain terms that no other rooms meant "no" other rooms.  The warm water felt good and Dean picked up the bottle of dishwashing detergent that contained lemon juice they used for washing after a hunt. John had discovered early on that lemon juice was the only thing that took the scent of decomposing flesh off. Dean lathered up and scrubbed. He heard the door open, and the smell hit him right away. John paced the bathroom floor. Dean could hear John retching again, but it sounded like nothing came up. Finally, John raised his head and snapped. "Dean, are you almost done?"_

_After a minute John pushed the shower curtain aside. "Shove over, I'm coming in." He wriggled past Dean and ducked under the stream of water. Dean nudged his father in back and poured a dollop of the dishwashing soap into his hand. John began lathering his body, scrubbing until his skin was pink. Dean poured more detergent in his hand._

_"Bend over, Dad. I'll get your hair," His father shot Dean a funny look, and Dean mumbled, “It’ll get you out of here faster.”_

_John had obediently dipped his shoulders and Dean's long fingers worked their way through his thick curls. Finally the air seemed clear and both men uttered a sigh of relief. John offered Dean a smile, cocking his head at Dean's glum expression. John looked at his son's rigid posture and swung Dean around, his eyes scanning Dean's body for injuries. Then he had pulled up short, face going crimson.  Dean cringed._

_"It's okay, son. Fear will do that to you, and the adrenaline. It's nothing to be ashamed of, hell, it happens to me too, sometimes. I'll just go, so you can…take care of that."_

Suddenly John sat up in bed. He could tell Dean was thinking the same thing. "I should have never got in the shower with you." Dean dropped his head on his father's shoulder and thumped it hard a few times. John stopped him with a half-hearted shove.

 

"Dad, let's go over this one more time. I did not get a hard-on because you got in the shower and it gave me ideas. I already had the ideas to begin with and that caused the hard-on when you got in the shower."

John sighed. "I'm sorry about all this. If I hadn't gone after the demon we wouldn't be here right now."

 

"And maybe Sammy would be dead, maybe worse than dead. No looking back, Dad. So we just deal with this like anything else."

 

 

John glanced at the bathroom door then nervously paced the length of the kitchen floor again. He paused tapping his fingers against the calendar on the wall one more time. He counted each day carefully, until he came up six weeks. Since weeks since his rude awakening, six weeks since he had discovered exactly what having functioning female reproductive organs actually entailed. John groaned the smell of the coffee in the pot made his stomach roil. Panting a little he ran to the big double sink and vomited a thin stream of yellow bile into the stainless steel basin. Quickly he ran the hot water to wash it away.  Six weeks, fourteen days past due. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

 

Sammy came out of the bathroom and glanced at John. "Hey, Dad, are you feeling okay? You look a little rough around the edges."

 

"I feel a little rough around the edges. I think I'm coming down with something."

John agreed. Sam narrowed his eyes, his father would never admit to feeling ill unless he was half dead already. Sam rose staring into his father's eyes. John flinched.

 

"Dad," Sam said with a worried frown. "What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing, don't worry about it. Just a touch of the flu or something." John shifted, and Sam sniffed the air experimentally. He caught the fait odor of vomit in the air.

 

"That's the forth morning this week you've thrown up. I think that it's a little more than a touch of the flu. I'm going to the drug store, wait for me, okay?"

 

 

Sam was back in fifteen minutes. He was carrying a plastic bag with several white boxes inside. He fished one of the boxes out of the bag and opened it up. When he turned to John he was carrying a small plastic stick about the size of a dinner knife. He handed the stick to John. "Here you need to take this into the bathroom and pee on it."

 

John looked doubtfully at the stick. "Pee on it? The whole thing?"

 

"No…here." Sam took the stick and pulled one end off so that John could see white paintbrush-like bristles. "Here pee on the end where the bristles are. Then put the cap back on and bring it to me."

 

When John got out of the bathroom he handed the stick back to Sam. And Sam consulted the back of the box. He looked dismayed, no John corrected, he looked horrified. After his third trip out of the bathroom John was sulking. "Look I can't pee another drop so this had better be it."

 

Sam waved his father into a chair. "It doesn’t matter. They're all the same. All positive, so I'm pretty sure…"

 

"Pretty sure what?" John asked, and Sam looked up at him with a grim expression. John felt his stomach roll again.

 

"Dad, you're pregnant." 

 

John had never fainted before, so he wasn't sure if the white haze was his vision fading or not. Sam's face seemed to float behind the soft pale light, and the world tipped slightly. He was grateful that Sam caught his shoulder before he fell completely out of the chair. "Dad, I'm going to go get Dean at Bobby's. Just stay still and we'll be back in forty-five minutes."

 

 

Dean burst through the front door just ahead of Sam. Both young men were out of breath as if they had run from the parking lot up the stairs to the apartment. The living room was empty. Sam’s laptop was hooked up to the printer sitting on a writing desk, but it was off.  He touched the computer and sighed. Sam turned forgetting the computer for the moment.

 

His brother was stalking the hallway looking into all the rooms. He disappeared into the bedroom John had been using, and then slammed the door behind him. “If you two got in a fight. If you blamed him for this, Sammy I swear…”

 

“We didn’t get into a fight, Dean. And I don’t blame him for this, I blame you.”

 

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, but his brother jerked away. “What the hell? You think I wanted to get possessed by the demon, do you think I wanted all this?”

 

“It’s pretty evident that you wanted Dad. And you got him. Without any consideration for what might happen to him or what he might want.” Sam settled on the back of the sofa, and Dean scowled at his younger brother.

 

“What do you mean without any consideration for what might happen to him?”

 

Sam dropped his head. “I wanted Dad to tell you, but he’s gone and I think he might do something bad. Dad is pregnant, Dean.”

 

“Pregnant?” Dean sucked in a deep breath, and for once Sam could see all that damned self-assurance melt away. Dean looked lost. Sam felt a tremor run through his body. He reached out, but Dean slapped his hand away.

 

“You left him here alone? Knowing he might do something, you left him here alone anyway. How stupid can you get, Sam?”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who got him pregnant, Dean. Let’s not forget how you fit into this equation.” Sam snarled grabbing the front of Dean’s shirt. He slammed his older brother back against the wall, leaning in--face dark and wet with sweat. Dean worked his fists into Sam’s jacket and jerked. Sam over balanced and went down hard. Both men froze when Dean’s cell phone rang. “Yeah?”

 

A soft, accented voice carried to his ears. “Dean, you and Sammy all right?”

 

“Missy?” Dean asked, and Sam hurriedly stood up. “What’s wrong?”

 

Missouri’s voice was tinged with deep concern, and Dean tilted the cell phone out from his ear a little so that Sam could hear her as well. “You boys have got to stop this nonsense. Your Daddy needs you now. He’s planning on doing something terrible.”

 

Sam turned away, moving to the computer. Worry creased his face, and then he spied several crumpled balls of paper in the trashcan. He grabbed them and unfolded the pages. With a gasp Sam hurried back to Dean and shoved the papers into his hand. Dean glanced down and almost dropped the phone.

 

The title of the article held in Sam’s hand jumped off the page, and Dean felt his knees go weak. The pages were simple text with illustrations in dark lines. ‘Self Induced Abortion.’ Sam took the phone. Missouri’s trouble voice caught his attention. “You can’t let him do this terrible thing. If he does the demon wins. This child is the answer to a Prophecy. The instrument of John’s vengeance, and he will throw it all away because he’s running scared. You boys need to go find him, and bring him here. And you need to hurry; you aren’t the only ones looking for him.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean cradled the phone in one hand, staring at Sam. His brother was reading through the papers he had found in the trashcan, and his express grew grimmer as he read farther. Dean mumbled something to Missouri then snapped the phone closed. Sam ran his hand through his hair and let the pages drop to the floor. "Dean, if Dad does this…he'll die. Some of the herbs that the website recommended are deadly poison. Not to mention doing that with a coat hanger. God, we've got to find him."

 

"It's been less that an hour, Dad can't have gotten far." Dean said desperately. Sam rolled his eyes.

 

"Come on, Dean, this is Dad we're talking about. An hour's plenty of time. If he doesn't want us to find him, we won't."

 

"Well, we've got to. Even if he doesn't do…that, he'll die anyway.  Let's search his room. I know that he has that metal lockbox, the one he keeps fake ids and credit cards in. If we got very lucky maybe he forgot to take it. Or at least, he left the box and only took new id. We can track him from credit card receipts that way.  I'll go get the box and you start hacking hotel sites looking for credit card charges under John Cahill." Before Dean disappeared down the hall the yelled over his shoulder, "And run the license plate on the truck, look for accident reports and the like."

 

 

John sat huddled over the table in a small diner, just outside of Merritt, Kansas. The town was just a few miles outside of Chelsea on the freeway to Lawrence. He had pulled over after his stop at the herbalist's shop in Merritt.  His hands had been shaking so badly that he couldn't drive anymore. A silver bag lay nestled on the bench beside him, and John kept glancing at it as if it might come alive at any second. Carefully, John unfolded the pages he had printed off the internet shuddering at the simple, black-line drawings. He kept the pages half folded so that no one could see them, and he flinched hurriedly folding them up when the waitress came by to top off his coffee.

 

Dean stood in the street just outside the house. He and Sam had just exorcised a poltergeist. The confused, but grateful, family had offered to let them stay over for the night, save them the expense of the hotel, but somehow the overwhelming tension and underlying suspicion aimed at them convinced the boys to move on.

 

Sam was seated on the hood of the Impala while Dean walked up and down the street trying to get a clear enough signal on his cell phone to make a call. It was six o'clock and time for his brother's nightly call to Dad.  He could see Dean's brows knitted in frustration. Finally, the expression on his brother's face relaxed and Sam could hear the phone ringing, and the smoky, ground-glass voice on the other end.  Followed by Dean's breathily exhaled, "John?" Sam snickered, and Dean shot him a look that said " _Fuck off and die, bitch."_

Far off in Lawrence, John settled back in the mind-numbingly red leatherette chair at the Pizza Hut, and grinned into the cell phone. He turned to the window muting his voice.  "How'd it go?"

 

"Fine, Sammy and I are all wrapped up. We're leaving in the morning."

 

John sighed. He hated being cooped up at home with the boys on the road. But he knew it wasn't safe for him to be out there.  And Dean and Sam were more than capable of handling the jobs on their own. Unconsciously, his hand drifted down to the slight curve of his belly. He was five months now, but the baby seemed to be spreading out to the side so he wasn't showing all that much. Most people would put the bump down to middle-aged spread. 

 

Dean exhaled into the phone again, "You okay?"

 

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm just having dinner. The kid seems to like pizza this week." John had had a relatively easy pregnancy, a little morning sickness at the end of the first trimester, but nothing but weird cravings the past four weeks. He had also noticed Dean's tendency to go moony now that John was starting to show. He could almost see Dean's dopey expression over the phone, even without the camera. "What was the job?"

 

Dean ignored the question. "Hey, put the phone down so I can talk to her."

 

John laughed. "Dean, I am not going to sit in Pizza Hut with a cell phone on my belly. People already think we're a little weird as it is. That'll just push them over the edge. Let me talk to Sammy."

 

Sam took the phone from his brother who was pouting. "Hey, Dad, how's it going?" He paused listening for a moment. "Yeah, it was just a poltergeist. Naw, it was not too much trouble. We tried exorcising it at dinner though, and it made maggots appear in all the food. Pretty much everybody, including Dean, puked." The unspoken " _But not me."_ hung in the air. He glared over at Dean who flipped him off. "It was a real stellar moment in our lives."

 

Chuckling John asked, "Does Dean still get that stupid look on his face whenever I mention the kid?"

 

"And that would be distinguishable from the regular stupid expression he has on his face all the time, how?" Sam snorted. He could hear his father laughing on the other end of the phone.  Dean grabbed the phone from his younger brother.

 

"We're going to head back to the hotel. It'll take about six hours driving tomorrow, but we’ll be home. Be careful, okay?"

 

"Yeah, sure, same to you. Watch out for Sammy, he's just getting back into the swing of things. And Dean…" John coughed, clearing his throat. "You know…"

 

"Yeah, right back at you, dude."  Dean folded the phone and put it in his pocket. Turning to Sam he sighed and said, "Let’s hit the road, back to the hotel."

 

 Noting Dean's glum expression Sam said. "Why don't we just pick up our gear and head back tonight?"  Dean glanced up at him and smiled.

 

"Naw, we're tired, it was a whole lot of hurry up and wait. But we pulled out all the stops getting the damn thing out of there." Dean started the car and pulled into the lane of traffic. There were very few cars on the road, and they made it to the hotel fairly quickly. Dean pushed the door open.  There was something off in the feel of the room. Motioning to Sam he pulled the .45 out of his jacket and raked it around the interior. On the table beside the window sat his duffle bag, Dad's journal on the table beside it still opened to the page he had been reading. There was a box beside the journal, and it took Dean a few minutes to recognize it as a plastic thermal cooler- the kind that might hold a six-pack. Taped to the cooler was a note on hotel stationary, from the writing desk between the two beds. The words were scrawled on the crisp white paper in crimson ink. Dean supposed it was to make it look like blood. He picked up the note; it read "Have you talked to Johnny today, Deano?"

 

He flipped the page onto the table, and pulled the cooler over. Opening the lid his breath gushed out in one long exclaimed curse.  Inside the cooler floating in water and half melted ice was a fetus.  Dean's knees buckled. He staggered back, shins barking up against the chair leg. He fell heavily in the chair knocking it askew. 

 

Sam leaned over the cooler. "Oh shit," he cried out, and then carefully dipped his hand into the icy water. "It's a pig fetus, Dean--just a pig. You talked to him on the phone. He's okay, eating pizza even, in public--lots of people around."

 

Dean shook his head. "Get your stuff together, Sam. We're driving back tonight."

 

 

John tugged the pitcher of Coke over and filled his glass. He supposed he should go home, but it was only seven-thirty. He stood up stretching his back until it cracked then ambled over the jukebox. He dropped some coins in and the thrum of rock music hit the air. A pretty thirty-something woman was sitting in a corner booth and she smiled at him. John offered her a half hearted grin then went back to his table. He pulled the newspaper he had been reading over, leaning down. The silver chain around his neck slipped out of his tee-shirt and the amulet he wore swung into his line of vision. The thing was gaudy, almost gypsy-like. A silver pentagram with a large glass bead in the center hung on the chain. The bead was filled with rose-wood shavings, silver splinters, dog-wood petals and chips of bone from a relic, all suspended in holy water.  It would fend off damn near anything.

 

"Hi," a soft feminine voice pulled John's attention from the page. The young woman who had been sitting across the room was standing beside the table.  Without waiting for him to ask she slid out a chair and sat down. She smiled at him again. John sighed as she propped her arms on the table staring at him. "I think I've seen you here before." The rising lilt in her voice made it a question. "With those two cute younger guys, are they your sons?"

 

John grunted, at once relieved and annoyed that she was hitting on him to get to the boys. "The younger one is, the older one is my boyfriend." _Boyfriend_ , he could have smacked himself on the head, that sounded lame to even him. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

 

"You live with your son and your boyfriend?" she grinned.  John pulled the paper over trying to ignore her and still be somewhat civil. Hell, just not telling her to fuck off was as civil as he really wanted to be, but they had to live here now.

 

”Yeah, we're a real progressive family."  Suddenly John glanced up. "How did you know I lived with them?"

 

"I just assumed, I mean, you three always come in here together." She leaned forward letting her hand wander across the table. Her fingers stopped just short of actually touching the amulet. "That's an interesting necklace."

 

"It's a good luck charm. Would you like to try it on?" He lifted the charm, trying to brush it against her hand. She drew back.  John began muttering under his breath, keeping his voice low and steady.

 

"Flamen Deus, phasmatis Deus Patris quod Deus Filius, Diligo Patris quod Filius, Divinus Diligo ut sustineo universum. Deus Omnipotens quod Omnipotens vos repleo partum per vestri Sanctus Presentia, audio meus votum in nomen Patris quod Filius, beatus mihi per vestri Diligo quod Pacis. In nomenea Patris, et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus."

 

Reaching into his pocket John tipped a small flask of holy water into his palm. The cap was just loose enough it splashed his skin.

 

The woman rose abruptly. "Well, there's no need to be rude about it. I was only asking about them…" She drew back, eyes flashing red in the warm overhead light. "It's only a matter of time, Johnny."

 

He reached out gently grasping her arm. She cringed as the holy water on his hand bit into her skin. "Don't run off, now. I'm sure the boys will be here in a while."

 

Aware of the fact that people were beginning to stare she pulled away. "No, I really have to run along." She tugged her arm free, and he could see the imprint of his palm burned into the pale flesh.  John smiled at her.

 

"We'll be around. I'll have them look in on you, real soon." He said cheerfully,

feigning a friendly wave. As she hastily disappeared out the door, John pulled out his cell phone again. Dean was too far away for him to call, but Bobby might be home. The phone rang three times and just as John was about to disconnect Bobby picked up. It practically killed him to mutter, "Bobby, I'm at the Pizza Hut in Lawrence. Can you come over here? I need your help."

 

Bobby's warm rich Southern accent, mellowed a bit by beer, filled the phone. "I'll be there in thirty, John-boy--just hang tight."

 

Bobby's truck pulled into the parking lot right on time. John was sitting at the table when he walked into the room. Pulling a chair out Bobby turned it around and straddled it.  "So you want to tell me what's going on?  You'd rather die a slow painful death than ask for help even from me, so why now?"

 

 "Just a minute, I really have to go take a leak." John stood up putting his hands behind him, and stretching. Bobby looked at the over sized tee-shirt pulled tight over John's abdomen. Suddenly the slight bulge seemed to take on new meaning.

 

"Holy shit, John!" Bobby snapped, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. He half rose out of the chair leaning forward.  "You're probably going to think I'm nuts, but are you pregnant?"

 

With a grunt John motioned to the bathroom door. Bobby waited drinking Coke out of John's glass until the other man came back. John settled in the chair, and then shrugged. "You're probably going to think I'm nuts, but yeah I am."

 

"So who… how?"

 

John scrubbed his hand over his face, "A demon did a little rearranging. It's some heavy duty black magic transmogrification spell. Old and really powerful one, too. Not to mention a little curse that goes with it."

 

"Sure you can't get rearranged without a curse, it's just not done, man. And the who… is it a demon?" Bobby looked intently at John. He flushed under the scrutiny.  Finally, John began to stammer out a reply when Bobby raised a hand. "So Dean finally grew a pair, and slipped it to you."

 

"Did everybody know about that but me?' John snapped. Bobby grinned at him.

 

"Oh, you didn't get the memo?"  Bobby chuckled at his own joke ignoring John's pained expression. "And these demons are on your tail, so you need a bodyguard until the boys get home."

 

 

Bobby was snoring softly on the sofa in the living room when the door swung open. He went from dead asleep to wide awake with a gun in hand before the figure standing in the doorway moved. Sam noticed the bulky form of his godfather swathed in blankets and pulled up short holding out his hands, "Bobby, man, its okay, its me and Dean."

 

Bobby dropped the gun, and rose from the couch. He moved swiftly and silently for so large a man, intercepting the boys at the door. Frowning he looked them over then held up a vial of holy water and ambergris. The liquid stayed clear and he finally relaxed.  "John told me you boys weren't coming in until tomorrow."

 

Dean pushed past him, pausing only for a moment to shake Bobby's hand. "Yeah, we didn’t think so either, but someone left us a message in the hotel room, and plans changed."

 

Bobby nodded, "Apparently John ran into a someone himself. That's why he called me, to run a little interference if need be."

 

Sam sighed, "Its getting to the point that we can't go on hunts. Not and leave Dad here alone. But we salted the doors and windows, so our someone was human--some minion or something. What about Dad?"

 

"No, the little lady had a real adverse reaction to Latin and holy water, so I'm thinking demon."

           

"Shit," Dean muttered. "It's getting to the point that we're damned if do and damned if we don't. But I can't see Dad staying locked in the house for the rest of his life."

 

Shrugging Bobby smiled. "Missouri got him a hell of a protection charm, rose-wood, ilver, dog-wood petals, pieces of a saint's finger, holy water. The whole nine yards. They'd have a hell of time laying hands on him under all that."

 

"Unless they were human." Sam said groaning. "And they'll think of that given enough time. This baby had better be The Slayer, dude."

 

Dean turned to his brother frowning. "I don't care if she is or isn't. She's my kid, and he's, well, everything—so I don’t care what it takes."

 

"You boys had better hit the sack, it's late. We'll catch up in the morning." Bobby glanced at the clock. "Later in the morning, anyhow."

 

Sam stripped off his shirt and jeans, and flopped down on the bed. Sleep was elusive; he was tired but almost too tired to nod off. He could hear Bobby shuffling around on the sofa trying to get comfortable. And he could just make out the soft sounds of Dean trying to strip in the hall before going in to bed.

 

John was dead to the world. He was lying on his back right in the middle of the bed, snoring softly. His breath caught and he rolled onto one side hand creeping across the bed, searching the blank expanse even in his sleep. Dean felt the silly grin on his face. For all John's tough guy image he was soft-hearted, when it came to one of his kids. Dean couldn’t begin to count the times he and Sammy had double-teamed John and wriggled their way into getting what they wanted growing up. Half the time Dean could get his way all by himself, if manipulated John the right way. And he knew the right ways.

 

Dean felt a stab of shame at that thought; the idea that his father had fallen into this relationship, had even gotten pregnant by circumstances not of his choosing. John was a closed book emotionally, and while he never directly said to Dean that he didn’t want to continue the sexual part of their relationship, Dean felt that John still had reservations. Dean had no qualms about sin or wrongness he wanted what they had, but John never had been given a choice.

 

Lifting the blankets he slid into the bed. John grunted, raising his head, and smiled. "You boys decided to come back early."

 

"Hey, I couldn't stay away." John slid his body back until Dean was spooned up behind him.  "Are you really tired?" Dean whispered into John's hair. John chuckled; Dean could feel the muscles jumping in his back.

 

 "Not so much." John tilted his head back consulting the clock on the bedside table. "I've had about six hours sleep. You boys must have driven all night."

 

"Yeah, we split it up. So I grabbed a quick nap in the Impala." Dean leaned forward letting his lips trail over John's neck and back. "It's good to be home."

 

John rolled onto his back casually stroking a thumb across Dean's cheek. "You want to make love?"

 

"Like you wouldn't believe."  Leaning forward Dean pressed a kiss to the thin line of the older man's mouth. He could feel more than see John's smile. He licked John's lips open.  Sliding down he pressed a line of kisses across John's collarbone, stopping to nuzzle the thick bump where John's had broken it five years ago, and never had it set properly. He kissed passed various nicks and scars that his dad had accumulated over the years as well. His lips touched the tip of John's cock, but John laced his fingers through Dean's hair and pulled his head up.

 

"Dean, I wanted to ask you…uhm." John paused and Dean stoked his cock up and down once, John shuddered. "I wanted something, but I've never asked anyone, ever. I don't know why I've been thinking about it. I've never done it before, but I always wondered. You might not have ever done it either…"

 

"Is it a little kinky?" Dean asked grinning. Suddenly he lunged forward twisting his fingers around John's wrists forcing them to the bed. He squeezed, hard enough to hurt a little, and was rewarded by John's hips bucking up off the bed. John swallowed convulsively.  " _Well hell, Sammy was right_."  Dean snickered at the thought.

 

"Not that tonight, maybe later, but I want you to do me from behind."

 

"Doggy style, we've done that before."  Dean's voice was confused, and John was grateful for the darkness, and the fact that Dean couldn't see him stammering around like an idiot.  Suddenly Dean dropped his wrists. "You want it up the ass?"

 

"Not if you don't want…"

 

"Hell no, I'll do you anyway you like. I've got some rubbers and astroglide in my duffle bag. Just let me get something from the kitchen."

 

John sat up, his breath huffing out in a loud sigh. "You want to eat now?"

 

Dean disappeared out the door. In slightly panicked voice John hissed. "Dean, don't forget Bobby's in the living…"

 

Suddenly Bobby's rough drawl hit the air. "Shit, Dean. I didn't need to see that."

 

 

"Sorry, dude." Dean said over his shoulder, then the door swung shut and Dean hopped onto the bed.

"It's okay. Trust me on this; you're going to love this. At least the chick on the internet did."

 

"Internet… just what are you boys using that computer for?"

 

"Not the time or place, dude. Come here." Dean leaned in kissing John again. John slid his hands up Dean's arms, grasping his shoulders. Dean kissed down John's chest, stopping to suckle a swollen breast. The first time a few drops of clear fluid hit his tongue Dean had freaked out. Now he wanted it, and he was not disappointed.  Dropping lower he worshiped John's belly with fingers and tongue, then pushed his thighs open. John let out a hoarse growl when Dean's head dipped lower. Dean grinned.

 

 He'd never forget the sounds John had made the first time he had done this little favor for him. And he'd also never forget the fact that his dad given him the best blowjob he'd ever gotten in his entire life that night, too. John was pretty much incoherent at this point so Dean reached over squirting a dollop of lube on his fingers. He started with two, and John didn't even twitch. He slid both fingers in until he hit John's prostate, and his father made a sound that he had never heard come out of the man before.

 

"Oh god," John gasped. "I love this multiple orgasm thing."

 

"Yeah, well you're really going to love this then. Come on over and up on your knees."  Dean paused and rolled the condom on. John glanced at him.

 

"Is there a reason you need the rubber?"

 

Dean smiled at the pissy tone in John's voice. "Hey, don’t flip out on me. It's just cleaner this way."

 

"I won't even ask how you know that." 

 

Dean slid his hand down John's back, and tucked his hips into John's body.

 

"Take a deep breath and bear down." Then suddenly he was surrounded by a tight heat and it was perfect. John stiffened under him. "Breath, John. That's it. God this is so good. Are you okay?"

 

Dean pulled out then angled his thrust hitting John's prostate again. John jerked beneath him. "Holy shit, that's incredible."

 

"Yeah, bend down a little; I need to pick up something on the bed." John bent his elbows while Dean groped across the sheets, fingers seizing a small dark shape.  "Spread your legs a little and hold on."

 

"What is that?' John said through clenched teeth as Dean thrust in a bit harder still hitting John's prostate on every stroke.

 

"Zucchini."

 

"What?" John asked, then his voice died in his throat as Dean reached between his legs and slid the zucchini into his vagina.  John's thighs trembled and he cried out. Dean thrust once and John was coming again, everything letting go at once.

 

His knees gave, and John hit the bed face first, barely turning aside to avoid being suffocated by the pillows. Dean followed him down, still thrusting and flooded John's bowels with his seed.

 

Dean rolled over pulling out of his father's body. He picked a towel up and dropped it across John's chest.  "Oh man, that was hot. You're going to kill me if you keep pulling surprises like that one out of nowhere. Not that I'm complaining, but where did that come from?"

 

John mumbled then cleared his throat. "There was a gay porno film on cable last night. And they looked like they were having fun so I thought what the hell."

 

"You were watching gay porn on TV last night? You know that's what I like about you, Dad; you can be really open-minded when you want to be."

 

"Yeah, really open minded. You know what else I found out? I can get off from masturbating."

 

"So this is like a last fling before I go back to bunking with Sammy?" Dean asked bitterly. John caught him by the arm, pulling Dean down so that his head rested on John's shoulder."

 

. "Hell, no. Believe me orgasm is definitely better with your dick involved.  I have no complaints, and no intentions of giving this up. I'm in for the long run, Deano. I just thought you might want to watch, that's all."

 

Dean choked. "I don't know where this is coming from, but man, I'm liking it a whole lot."

 

 

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table in Missouri's house reading while Dean paced the length of the hall. Missouri was fussing around the kitchen and every now and then she would glance over at Dean and shake her head, making Tsking sounds. She winked at Sam. "From the way that boy acts, you’d think nobody ever had a baby in this world before."

 

Dean finally gave up and settled at the table across from Sam. "What do think is taking so long. Miss Darkhorse said she just wanted to check on Dad. But this is taking forever."

 

"She's got to check his weight, measure him and do some other things. She'll get done when she gets done. No point in trying to rush it."

 

"Actually, I kinda wanted to ask her about something. He's been acting a little odd lately." Dean said blushing. Missouri watched at the red stain that crept from the roots of his hair down the collar of his shirt.  She could guess how John had been acting.

 

"What do you mean by odd, honey? Maybe I can help you."

 

Dean cocked his head at Sam then took a deep breath. "It's just that he's been…well, horny. I mean really horny; last night he wanted…"

 

Sam flung his book on the table. "Dean, I really don't want to here about whatever perverted stuff you're doing to my dad, okay."

 

"Get bent, Sam, maybe if you'd get laid once in a while you wouldn't be this much of a prude."

 

"I am not a prude. I just don’t want to think about Dad having sex in any form whatsoever."

 

"He's seven months pregnant, Sam. That means he must have done it, at least once."

 

John appeared in the door followed by a diminutive elderly woman wearing jeans and a black and red plaid shirt. Her long gray hair was done up in a braid coiled around her head. Dean looked as if he might jump her at any moment. She smiled sitting down. "Everything is fine. I'm going to be dropping by every two weeks for a month and then once a week for the last two months. But they're both fine. As for what you were so indelicately discussing with your brother, its hormones. A sort of last hurrah for you and him before the baby comes, and your privacy and energy go. It's hard to think about sex when you haven't slept in three days."

 

John groaned and laid his head down on the table. "I thought that I was past all that kind of stuff."

 

"At least you have these two fine young men to help you out. You won't be alone."  Coloma said with a smile. Missy chuckled.

 

Dropping his book Sam pushed the chair back. "Two--how did I get drafted into this? At least Dean got something for his part in all this." He said frowning. "I'm getting screwed here, and not in the good way."

 

 

 

 

The house stood draped in shadow--a simple single story building surrounded by a stone wall. From the street there was nothing about the house that looked particularly frightening. The lawn was well maintained, hedges clipped neatly. For all intents and purposes the house was a simple family residence. Bobby Singer stood outside his truck just a few blocks down from the driveway leading into the house. Dean was seated in the truck, studying a simple black-line drawing of the floorplan of the house that Sam had printed off of the real estate agent's website.

 

Dean opened the door, and pushed the drawing out. "One door in the front, one in the back—easy in and out. It'll teach that bitch to mess around with me and mine."

 

Bobby frowned. "Look, Dean, I know she came after John, but don't let that mess with your head my man. She may not be alone. "

 

"Hey, the more the merrier, I always say." Dean pulled his .45 slamming in a clip loaded with silver tipped bullets.  He stepped out of the truck tucking a flask of holy water in one pocket and an extra clip for the gun in the other pocket. He handed a shot gun filled with rock salt out to Bobby. Bobby passed Dean a box, and he glanced down at it grinning in the moonlight. "Dude, I really like you, but not this much."

 

He tilted the box so that the soft light glinted off the Trojan's logo. Bobby grinned at him. "What have John-boy kick my ass--and even seven months pregnant he could still kick it, I don't think so. Actually, you fill them with holy water; they make a hell of a water balloon."

 

"You've got to be shitting me. Is putting holy water in condoms sacrilegious?"

 

Bobby grinned, "Hell if I know. They're thinner than regular balloons, and they break easier. No messing around when push comes to shove."

 

Shaking his head Dean patted the older man on the shoulder. "Only a mind like yours, or my dad, could come up with something like that."

           

Bobby grinned, "I'm going around the back, give me five minutes then kick in the front door."  He pulled his shirt sleeve up and checked his watch against Dean's. The younger man nodded.  They crept up the driveway to the front of the house. Bobby checked the fence to the backyard. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to see that there were no dogs, or people moving around. Dean stooped over so that his shadow did not fall on the windows to the front rooms, then slid into the shadows draping the front door. He checked his watch as the minute hand ticked down. When five minutes had passed he reared back and kicked in the door.

 

The front rooms were minimally furnished, a sofa and several chairs. Dean sighed, no place to hide. Nothing stirred and Dean hurriedly crossed the room leaving the door open behind him. A light was on in a room down the hall. The door stood slightly ajar. Raising the gun Dean pressed his back against the wall, and slid down the hallway to the door. He just made out the corner of a bed, and a dresser. On the dresser top was a laptop computer. Bobby appeared at the far end of the hall, and assured that he had backup, Dean kicked the bedroom door open.

 

A willowy brunette was sitting in a chair by the window. She turned to the door smiling. "Hello, Dean. Why am I not surprised to see you here? Get my message."

 

"Yeah, I got your message, bitch. Here's an answer."

 

He raised the gun, and she cocked her head. Pausing ever so slightly Dean watched her face, her eyes flicked to the side, towards the end of the hall opposite the way he and Bobby had come in. A door slammed open, and Dean jerked the gun around. A figure appeared in the doorway, tall and bulky. He took two steps forward and Dean slid out of the door, moving back. The demon rose from her chair grabbing a knife from the dresser.

           

Dean smoothly sidestepped the knife, moving toward his opponent. The man was caught off guard for a moment, then swung a huge fist. The gun jumped in Dean's hand and his attacker was flung back, hitting the wall. The demon stepped out of the bedroom knife aimed for Dean's back.

 

Bobby jumped forward tossing one of his "water balloons" in her face. The demon writhed screaming as the holy water splashed over her. Face smoking she still made one last try for Dean, but Bobby tossed a second balloon and the smell of rotting flesh hit the air.  Most of the holy water missed the demon soaking the leg and rear of Dean's pants. He flinched, jerking the gun around and firing one round into the woman's half decomposed face. Dark tissue and black fluid jetted out spraying the wall.

 

Raking a hand over the seat of his jeans, Dean frowned at Bobby. "Dude, thanks for the shower." He grinned. "And thanks for watching my back."

 

"No problemo, kid. That's one more for our side."

 

"It's going to be a bitch trying to burn 'em without attracting attention. The house is far enough away from anything else in the neighborhood. So let's just light 'em up. We'll call the fire department from your truck."

 

"Drag her out her in the living room. I'll take this guy."

 

In a few minutes both bodies had been laid on the carpet in the living room. Dean pushed the chairs out of the way, and pulled a bag of salt out of his pocket. He and Bobby salted both bodies, then Dean stood guard while Bobby collected the gas can from the backyard. They kept the fire as small as possible, and headed to the door. They stood watching as the fire leapt around the still figures, until the bodies collapsed in on themselves. Once they were back at the truck Bobby called 911.

 

They were half way back to the Impala in the Rite Aid parking lot before the fire truck sped past. Dean shook hands with Bobby and walked into an all-night Laundromat. He stripped his jeans off and dropped them in the dryer, not wanting John to find out that he had been hunting in town and without his father's knowledge. After the jeans were dried he slipped them on leaving them unbuttoned and pulled his shirt down.

 

Dean walked to the McDonald's and slipped into the bathroom. He pulled his boxers off, dropping them into the plastic Rite Aid bag Bobby had given him, along with the half empty condom box. He shimmied into his jeans and sighed. He and Bobby had been coming out for a few nights a week for the past two months looking for that demon bitch, and Dean was glad he could put that behind him. He had been missing some serious snuggle time with John, but his safety and the baby's safety came first.

 

Finally, Dean slid into the seat of the Impala behind the wheel and turned the engine over. The car stuttered and died. Dean flicked on the dome light and groaned. The gas gauge was sitting on empty.

           

Suddenly a figure appeared at the door of the drug store. She was tall and perky, cute in a way that might have attracted him, before. Dean watched her for a few minutes before recognizing her as one of the girls who worked at the library with Sam.

 

 "Hey, Jenny." Dean shouted and she paused. "Jenny, can I ask you for a favor?"

 

She backed away until she also recognized him. "Oh, hi…you're Sam's brother?"

 

"Dean," he provided, and she nodded. "I'm out of gas. Would you mind driving me to the Chevron station?"

 

"Sure, no problem." She said and Dean shot her his most dazzling smile. He slid into the seat of the car, dropping the bag with his shorts and the condoms on the floor.  It took only a few minutes to make the trip to the gas station and back. She stood dutifully holding the flashlight for him while he put the gas in the car. He thanked her, and she drove away. Almost an hour later than he had planed Dean parked the Impala, and let himself into the house.

 

Sam and John were in bed, when he slipped his clothes off and pulled the blanket up. John looked at the clock on the night table. "It's one am. You're keeping late hours."

 

"Sorry, I planned on being back a lot sooner. I'm beat, can we talk about this later." Dean felt like crap cutting him off, but he was wired from the hunt, and dead tired. John shrugged and settled back down.

 

 

John was researching a couple of possible cases for the boys the next day when the doorbell rang. He had quit his job at the garage, well actually, he had left and Dean had taken his place so John had a lot of time to research and record information in his journal.

           

Grumbling under his breath John rose and ambled to the door, tugging his shirt down to cover his belly. Glancing out the window he saw a girl standing on the front step. He vaguely remembered seeing her at the library when he went to pick up Sammy so he opened the door.

 

"Hi," she said perkily. John winced then offered her a tentative smile. "You're Sam's dad?"

 

"Yeah, John Cahill." He offered her his hand and she shook it. "You're…Jennifer?"

 

"Yeah, it's nice that you remembered. Can you give this to your son? We were kind of in a hurry and he left it in my car last night, and I thought he might need it."

 

She shoved a bag in his hands. John took it, noting the phone number scribbled on the bag in blue Sharpie.

 

"Yeah, I'll give it to Sam when he gets in." John said. She wrinkled her cute little nose at him, and then shook her head.

 

"No, not Sam. The older one—Dean. Make sure you tell him my number's on the bag."

 

"Okay." He closed the door dropping the bag on the table. He ignored it for forty-five minutes then caved and peeked inside.  Suddenly his heart squeezed in his chest, and John was sure that he was having a heart attack. He felt sick. Turning the bag over he dumped the contents on the table. Dean's boxers and an open box of condoms tumbled out.

 

There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. John's head ached, and his throat felt like sandpaper. Swallowing only added to the pain in his chest, and John stilled.  He fought down the nausea only to find himself shuddering as sobs racked his body.

 

"Shit," he mumbled to himself. He was not going to sit here bawling like some teen-aged girl jilted by her prom date.  That didn't seem to stop the tears sliding down his cheeks.

 

The door bounced open and John snapped. "Christ can you be a little more careful."  He whirled scrubbing at his eyes with a trembling hand. Sam stood in the door with that deer caught in the headlights looks on his face. He frowned.

 

"Can’t you just give me a break, Dad?" He tossed several books he was carrying on the table beside the bag, as John made an unsuccessful attempt to push the underwear and condoms into the bag. "Jeeze, can't you and Dean keep your private life private…"

 

Sam settled into a chair. "Dad, are you crying?"

 

"No, Sammy, you know I don't cry."

 

"Since when, you cried all the time when we were kids. Just because you were in the shower when you did it, didn’t mean we didn't hear. It's okay."  He fingered the bag, then picked it up. "Hey, that's Jenny's number. I've been trying to get it for weeks. Did she bring this by for me?"

 

"No, she brought it by for Dean. He left it in her car last night."

 

Sam sat up. "Shit, Dad…there has to be a reasonable explanation, other than the obvious one. Dean wouldn't do that. He loves you."

 

"Dean has every right to have a normal life. I understand that, Sammy. It just caught me by surprise. He could have told me. I wouldn't get in the way."

 

"Bullshit, you've been getting in the way of our having a normal life since Mom died." Sam said bitterly. John winced. Sam gulped took one look at John's tearstained face and red-rimmed eyes, and felt like he had just kicked somebody's puppy. "That's not what I meant to say. Dad, you aren’t objective right now."

 

"I'm as objective as ever, just because Dean and I have this thing between us right now…"

 

"That's what I'm talking about Dad. You're never objective when it comes to Dean.  You and Dean have had this thing going for years; you've just been floating a boat on that big river in Egypt for so long you can't see it."

 

"I never laid a hand on Dean, hell--either of you boys…when you were growing up. Not like that, never like that."

 

"I know that, Dad.  But it's not like Dean didn't want it. Think about it, I stopped sleeping with you when I was five…hell, Dean was still climbing in bed with you when he was twenty-two. You never said a word. How many guys would you let spoon up behind you and wake up with a hard-on digging in your ass, and just laugh it off?"

 

John's face fell. "I knew this was my fault. I should have seen it. I just didn't think that he meant it like that."

 

"Maybe not consciously no, but you knew that Dean would do what you wanted because he needed to be with you, wanted to be with you. Admit it all the time that I was gone to Stanford—how many nights did you sleep in the same bed?"

 

"I don’t have to justify anything to you. We always got one room, it was safer, and it cut down on expenses."

 

"When I was there yeah, one room for the three of us with two beds, even after it got a little crowded for me and Dean, which wasn't often because Dean was usually bedded down with you. So answer me, how often did you let Dean get one room with one bed and just accept his lame-assed explanation that there wasn't any other choice."

 

John faltered. "All right, we’ve established that this all my fault. I just didn't think about in those terms."

 

"No, you didn't want to think about what was going on. Dad, Dean would have been fucking you years ago, if he thought you wouldn't try to kill him."  Sam picked up the boxers, and the condoms shoving them back into the bag. "This is bullshit, Dad. Dean isn't going to cheat on you, not with Jenny--not with anyone. The only reason he ever fucked anyone else is because he couldn't fuck you."

 

"It's true." Dean's voice interrupted from the door. John jerked around foot catching the chair leg. He went down in a tangle with the chair landing on top of his back. He winced, gasping for breath.

 

"On my god, Dad!' Sam leapt to his feet; Dean jumped down the three short steps leading into the dining room, and slid across the floor. Quickly Sam pulled the fallen chair off John's prone body.

 

Dean put his hand on John's back pushing him down. "Stay still, John. Sammy call Missy and have the mid-wife come over here. Tell her Dad fell."

 

John struggled to his knees, and then collapsed as a burning pain ripped through his back. Dean pressed his hand to John's back, "Just stay still. Sam's calling now. She’ll be here soon."

 

 

 

Sam was pacing, his breath hitched and he hiccupped.  Dean was sitting in a chair at the table watching the bedroom door. His attention never wavered; even as Sam's pacing brought him into Dean's line of vision then out again. Finally, Dean snapped, "Sammy, will you just sit down."

 

"I'm sorry, Dean. This is my fault, I had an argument with Dad, and he got upset. If I had just left him alone…"

 

"What the hell were you fighting with him about? I am so damned sick and tired of the both of you…Look Sammy if you can't get along maybe you should go back to Stanford, leave me and Dad alone."

 

"You didn't help, your little girlfriend, Jenny, just happened to show with a bag filled with your shorts and condoms. I came in and Dad was crying, for god's sake."

 

Dean slid his hand through his hair then rubbed his eyes. "I didn't, Sam. It wasn't like that. Bobby and I took out that demon bitch that came after Dad. I ran out of gas and she just took me to the Chevron station."

 

'That doesn't explain how she ended up with a bag that had your drawers and condoms in it."

 

Missy appeared at the door a scowl on her normally placid face. "Boys, this is no time for that, so you just stop all that nonsense, you hear me."

 

The boys glared at each other then lapsed into silence. Coloma Darkhorse paused at the door to the bedroom, then motioned Dean in. "He's fine, just a sprained back. He's going to be off his feet for a few days though. Try to keep him still if that is humanly possible."

 

John was lying on the bed with a dopey grin on his face. Dean picked up a bottle of medicine on the table and then grinned. Maybe if they kept John doped to the gills he's stay still. Yawning John tugged Dean's hand, pulling him down on the bed. Dean leaned forward planting a kiss on his father's forehead.

 

 "You know that I wouldn't, not with Jenny not with anyone. Only you, John." John frowned doubtfully but Dean placed a finger over his mouth. He explained about him and Bobby killing the demon. John frowned, but mellowed by the pain medication he let it go. Finally, John drifted off to sleep.

 

Missouri and Coloma were seated at the table with Sam when Dean pulled the door to the bedroom closed behind him. "Is he really okay?"

 

The elderly lady nodded smiling. "Yes, he isn't hurt and neither is the baby, but I wanted to talk to you. I did a very thorough exam, and John's cervix is thinning. It won’t be more than a week before he delivers."

 

 

 

It was raining, more like pouring, two weeks later--a Monday morning. The sky was blue-gray and it was cold for so early in the fall. Sam dropped his books on the table by the door, noted that his father was nodding over the newspaper.  Pulling his jacket off Sam draped it over the coat rack on the opposite side of the door. "Dean home yet?" he asked his father. John's body jerked, and he sat upright.

 

"Nope, not yet, still at the garage." Stretching John rose stiffly. He rubbed his back and winced. The pain had returned earlier that day, and he had noticed that it was just getting worse as the day wore on. "Sam, would you mind getting me some pain pills, my back's acting up again."

 

“I'll be in the kitchen, I'm just going to get some water." John disappeared into the other room, and Sam went to the bathroom to get his medication. When Sam got to the kitchen he paused, John was standing beside the sink, staring down at the water pooling at his feet.

           

"Did you spill it? Just sit down I'll clean it up."

 

"No, Sam, I didn't spill it. I think my water broke." John smiled feebly. Sam felt a rush of panic overwhelming him.  He grabbed John's arm dragging him out of the kitchen and shoved him onto the sofa.

 

"Sit down. Dad." he said oblivious to the fact that John was already sitting down. "I'll call Dean, maybe Missy first, huh?"

 

The burning pain twisted John's gut again, and he gasped. "I don't care who you call first just call somebody. Maybe I should go lay down." John stumbled to his feet, wandered to the bedroom, and began arranging the bed. He had put everything that they needed for the delivery in a chest at the foot of the bed. First he stripped the bed, laying a vinyl shower curtain on the mattress to keep it dry. Then he placed several large water proof pads over that. On top of the pads he remade the bed with clean, bleached white sheets.  After he had made the bed John stripped off his jeans, pulling on a white hospital gown, and a blue terrycloth robe. He slid his boxers off dropping them in the hamper.

 

Sam appeared at the door.  "Dad, Missy and Miss Darkhorse are on their way over. She said you've probably got a while to go yet. I'll call Dean."

 

John groaned leaning forward, grasping his abdomen. "Sammy, tell them the pains are about fifteen minutes apart, see if they can tell you how long this is going to take." Sam swallowed hard. He noted that John was shuffling around on the bed, and grunting. Suddenly his mouth went dry.

 

"Oh god no, Dad. Cross your legs or something…just hold it in. Just keep it in until the mid-wife get's here."

 

"I don’t think it work's that way, Sammy you may have to…"

 

"Oh hell no. I'm calling Dean. He put it in, he can get it out."

 

Thirty minutes later Dean arrived, panting. "Where is he?" He asked. Sam hooked a thumb at the open door to the bedroom. He went into the kitchen and re-appeared with a pot of tea on a tray.  "Missy said to give Dad tea with honey in it to keep up his strength. They're on the way, maybe another fifteen minutes or so."

 

Dean peeked into the bedroom. John was sitting up; face flushed and damp with sweat. He gritted his teeth and panted through another contraction. "They'll be here in a little bit." Dean said.

           

"I'm okay. It's not so bad. The pains are about ten minutes apart, and not too strong." He grinned at Dean. "How hard can it be squeezing out one little kid?"

 

 

 

"Oh holy shit!" John snapped. Leaning forward he struggled against the strong hands holding his shoulders back. "Let go of me, I have to sit up!"

 

Coloma was sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed. John's knees swathed in a white blanket spread before her. She reached out and Dean felt his stomach roll. "John try not to move around, I can't see what's going on if you're moving. Dean hold him still."

She ordered. Dean made a move as if to pull John prone on the bed, and his father's hand clamped on his leg like a vise-grip. Faced with the possibility of being crippled or John's hand wandering a bit Dean released him.

 

"Come on, John, push." Coloma said with a smile. John growled at her. He released Dean's leg and Dean grabbed his hand, just in case John had the Glock under the pillow. He cursed himself for not taking all the weapons out to the Impala. Oblivious to the interplay between father and son she reached under the blanket and John stiffened. "Good, I see the head. One more push."

 

With a groan John pushed. He uttered one small scream, and then clamped his lips shut. The sound of an infant squalling filled the air. Coloma stood up cradling the tiny form in her hands. Dean stood absolutely frozen into place at the sight of her. She was tiny, red, wrinkled and covered in some kind of gunk. But she was also the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  She was pink shimmering with gold guilt highlights, with an amazing stock of soft brown hair. 

 

When Coloma brought her to him Dean was almost afraid to touch her, his hands seemed impossibly large and clumsy, but he managed. John smiled up at him from the bed, exhausted but he had a dreamy look on his face. Dean sat down on the bed, gently placing the baby on John's chest. He touched her hands, her feet and her face stroking his blunt fingertip over her tiny cupid's bow of a mouth. She mewled softly. With a sigh Dean slid his fingers through her hair. "Mary," he whispered.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes John picked up the check, gathered the bag and walked to the cashier. The same waitress who had served his coffee took the check. "You okay, Hon?" she asked. John offered her what he hoped was a smile, but assumed he failed miserably at her pained expression. Shoving the change in his pocket he walked out to the truck. He had been careful, so far, not to use his credit cards, and he had collected two new ids with their own credit cards on the way out. Dean would be able to track him, John had no doubt; he had ground that ability into his older son at a very early age.  It was just a matter of when, not if, the boys found him. He only hoped that he had time to do what he had to do.  Dean would probably hate him for the rest of his life, after it was done, but John didn't have the strength to do it all over again. It might have been a tough life, but the boys were raised and self-sufficient. He couldn't bring another child into all this. 

 

Oddly enough the idea that John would bear the child and give birth to it was not overwhelmingly strange to him. In the past twenty-three years he'd seen stranger things.

Even the idea that his own son was the baby's father was not that strange. John wasn't extremely worried that the baby might be damaged; he had looked up information on the internet and since their family was free of any congenital defects John was reasonably sure that the baby was normal.  At least as normal as any Winchester got. He had been somewhat concerned that the baby might be part demon, but he had figured out that he had one period before he got pregnant so he hadn't gotten that way when Dean was possessed. So for better or worse the baby was all his and Dean's.

 

Tugging the collar of his jacket closer around his neck John headed out to his truck. He glanced up and down the street, it was close to dusk, and the wind had picked up. His truck was parked at the back of the lot, now swallowed in deep shadows and John hesitated.  He shivered reaching into his pocket and wrapping his fingers about the butt of the gun concealed there.  Nothing stirred in the lot, and John heaved a sigh of relief. He opened the door, and then frowned; a parking ticket was tucked under the windshield wiper. Cursing John pulled the ticket out and shoved it into the glove compartment. He patted his pockets down and pulled out the keys.

 

Suddenly a darker shadow disentangled itself from the brick wall of the building. John barely had time to turn around in the seat when a pair of strong hands seized his jacket and jerked him out of the truck. Then he was flying through the air, his back striking with wall with numbing force. Gasping John tried to tuck his body, doubling over so that his upper body covered his belly. He felt a sudden, fierce wave of protectiveness toward his unborn child washing over him. In that instant John knew that he could never kill the baby. Now it looked as if something or someone else was going to do it for him.

 

Two figures loomed over John, jerking him over onto his back. The two men were huge, clad in jeans and black leather. The taller of the two men had his head shaved, and John could smell the sour scent of sweat, and unwashed skin as he bent over grasping John's arm, wrenching him up.

 

"Get up," he said, his voice a deep growl; his eyes flashed yellow in the deepening twilight. John went limp, making it as difficult as possible for his two attackers to drag him to his feet.  "Get up or I won't wait for her--I'll rip that little bitch out of your belly right here."

 

The other man grasped his partner's arm. "You'd better wait or she'll make you pay for it. This is her right, sent down by Him. She won't take you interfering with that lightly."

Shrugging his associate's arm off the bigger man bent over grasping at the front of John's jacket. John went limp yet again, letting his body become dead weight. The man kicked him once in the hip.

 

John rolled over letting his arms flop in the dust on the asphalt. He forced the two men to drag him upright, shuffling in the dirt as much as possible. Even after they had wrestled him to his feet, John shuffled along, leaving as clear a trail in the dirt as possible. A blind man should be able to track him, and Dean certainly wasn't blind.

 

 

Dean was pacing the living room behind the sofa as Sam scanned line after of line of traffic reports.  He had been disgusted when his younger brother had told him just how many accident reports had been filed at the DMV that day. Sam grunted rubbing his eyes then glanced back at Dean.  "No accident reports. I'm going over any reports relating to the truck's license plate that I can…wait…dude, we scored. Dad got a parking ticket at Granny's Diner in Merritt at five-fifteen this afternoon. That's was just about thirty minutes ago. He might still be in the diner."

 

Dean looked like he might faint from relief. "Let's go." Dean pulled on a jacket as he opened the door to the closet. He pulled the weapons bag out and tucked a sheathed hunting knife into the waistband of his jeans, and his dad's Glock into his jacket pocket. Sam followed behind juggling the laptop and the shot gun Dean tossed him.

 

"Do you really think we need this much fire-power to get Dad back here?" Sam asked sarcastically. Dean shot him a look. Sam shrugged and grinned.

 

"No, I don't, I can handle Dad." Dean said snidely. "Missy said that we weren't the only ones looking for him. The fire-power is just in case they find him first, and we have to take him away from them."

 

Sam laid the shot gun across the dashboard and tossed the box of salt-packet shells on the floor at his feet. He opened the laptop as Dean started the Impala.  The engine gunned and the car roared onto the road to Merritt.

 

The Impala pulled into the parking lot of Granny's Diner just fifteen minutes later. Dean got out of the car scanning the lot, trying to distinguish the colors of the vehicles under the sickly glow of the orange Halogen security lights.  Finally, his eyes settled on the black, '86 GMC truck in the far corner of the lot. Dean hissed a curse under his breath; Dad must have been out of his mind if he had walled himself in like that, with no escape route. He quickly crossed the lot, and found the driver's side door slightly ajar, the truck keys lying on the floor just under the seat. "They got him." Dean said to Sam desperately looking around the parking lot to the surrounding buildings.

 

"How can you tell?" Sam asked. He walked over as Dean tucked the keys to their dad's truck into his jacket pocket. Dean rose to his feet studying the ground around the truck and moving back to the wall. He crouched down fingers tracing over the scuff marks in the thick layer of dirt on the asphalt beside the brick wall of the adjacent building.  Dean looked back at his brother.

 

"Dad would have never have left the keys in the truck like that unless something jumped him." Dean motioned to the dirt. "He was here, lying on the ground, and I'll bet he didn't get that way voluntarily. Something took him. But he made a mess. There's a shit-load of footprints and scuff marks. He left a trail."

 

 

 

John lay on the cold cement floor of the abandoned warehouse. His hands were duct-taped behind his back, and his arms ached. Panting he tried to rise to his feet, but his knees wouldn't hold. There was nowhere to go anyway. The two men who had brought him to the warehouse had dumped him in the freight pen and padlocked it shut. With his hands bound he couldn't pick the lock. The only thing that was going remotely in his favor was the fact that they had left him pretty much alone.  He had no illusions that they had forgotten him, only that they were letting him stew, waiting for someone more important, waiting for him to break. In any case, they were waiting. That was bound to change, and probably soon.

 

As if they had read his thoughts, the door to the room swung inward. The taller of the two men appeared. He unlocked the gate to the pen and sauntered inside. Walking over he stopped looking down at John. He smiled at John then twisted his thick-fingered hand into the fabric of John's shirt and jerked him to his feet. The duct tape ripped and John brought his hands around grasping at his captor's arm, but he didn’t bother trying to resist further. He shuffled along behind his captor silently. The shorter man slammed the door. "Jake," he hissed. "Meg is waiting in the warehouse."

 

Jake grunted a sound that might have been assent, and jerked John's arm, turning him towards a second door. Without warning John was shoved into a brightly lit room. At both ends of the room were doors, one on a ramp leading to a loading area, the other leading out into the parking lot. John could see the thin strip of deep shadow marking the alley way. Along the far wall was a gleaming stainless steel table. Beside the table stood a figure, a small blond woman who looked to be no older than Sammy.

 

The woman smiled at John. She sauntered over to where he stood, and then stroked the length of his arm, fingers resting lightly on his biceps. John sneered at her and she laughed, the sound as clear as a bell ringing. "So this is the great John Winchester. Truthfully I expected a much bigger man—but then you're not exactly a man now are you?"

 

"Cut the bullshit, bitch. Don't try to pull that psychobabble crap with me. I've heard it all before, and you don't impress me."

 

"Oh, but I will make an impression on you, Johnny. I will, and you know what? I'll even let you hang around here long enough for that pretty son of yours to find your body. What do think he'll do when he walks in and finds you bled dry like a stuck pig, with the baby he put inside you scraped out on the cement? How do you think he's going to feel about you when he believes that you did it to yourself?" Meg grinned at him, and John smiled letting his body go lax, not reacting to her touch.

 

Meg squeezed his arm, John winced, and she slid closer letting her hand trail down his chest, cupping one of his breasts. She squeezed, pinching his nipple between her thumb and forefinger. John didn't move, but his eyes flicked at the two men. They were both watching the interaction with avid attention. He smirked at them.

           

"If you're hoping for a little lesbian action, forget it. I don’t find your boss the least bit attractive. Maybe it’s a prejudice of mine, but I don't fuck nasty, little demon bitches."  John said cringing a little when Meg's fingernails dug into his tender flesh. A crimson stain welled up, blossoming on the front of his tee-shirt.

 

Without pausing Meg turned, dropping her hand and smiling up at John as if he had not spoken. "I could make it easy on you, Johnny. If you don't fight, I'll let you live. Just let me take the baby nice and quick, and you go back to Dean. I'll even take the memory away—from him, at least. I want you to know what you sacrificed."

 

"Go to hell," John snapped and she slapped him, the sound of the blow echoing in the empty room.

 

"If I do, I'll take you with me," she said laughing.  Meg lifted a hand and John found himself propelled through the air, coming to rest on the stainless steel table. His arms were jerked above his head by unseen hands, his body pinned by invisible bonds. He cried out struggling as much as he was able. Meg stalked to the side of the table working her hands into the waistband of John's jeans. The buttons popped one at a time, until she could work the jeans over his hips and down his legs. It took a few minutes for her to tug his boots free and toss them onto the floor. His jeans followed and then his boxers. He shivered as the cold air crawled across his heated skin.

 

She picked up the twisted piece of metal lying on the end of the table. "You should have taken the easy way out, Johnny.  I liked to say this is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you, but we both know that's a lie. This is going to hurt like hell. Hold his legs open." She snapped at Jake. Obediently he walked to the end of the table, grabbed John's legs and jerked them out straight holding them open. His ankles ground against the table and John flinched. He tried to break Jake's grip on his legs, but the man's hands were like iron bars.

 

Suddenly the room boomed with the echoing sound of one of the doors banging open. The figures around the table froze. Meg jerked back as a single shot blasted the air. Jake spun around, blood jetting out of a hole in his forehead, and hit the floor. She screamed raising the twisted metal towards John's neck. The door on the other side of the room slammed open and a shot gun blast cut through the silence. The rock salt hit Meg dead center in her chest. She was lifted off her feet, and slung through the air hitting the floor hard. She rolled, coming to her knees and tilted her head back. A cloud of black smoke gushed out of her mouth as the demon fled the girl's body. She sank back to the ground, bleeding from the gunshot wound.

 

Sam was barely aware of the sound of gun fire as Dean put down the other demon. He scurried over to the girl gasping for breath on the floor. Quickly Sam bent down cradling the girl's head in one hand as he checked the wound to her chest. She coughed, breath rattling in her throat, and Sam knew she was dying. "I'm sorry," he said but the words sounded so inadequate in his own ears, how must they sound to her. She shook her head.

 

"Don't be. I'd rather be dead than have that thing in me again." She tried to look around. "Is he okay—the man?"

 

Sam nodded. "Yeah, my dad's okay. You didn't --it didn’t hurt him."

 

"Good," she sighed closing her eyes. Then her head went limp in Sam's hand, and he gently lowered her to the floor. Sam looked away, glancing at Dean and their father. Dean had John's shirt twisted in his fists, John's body pressed back against the wall.

 

Dean stepped forward sliding a leg between his father's knees pressing him back. He leaned in his mouth catching John's lips. The kiss was long and brutally hard.  Dean jerked his head away snarling at John. "When I saw that bastard had his hands all over you…even if he wasn't a demon I would have killed him."

 

John's hand drifted over Dean's chest pushing gently at first and them more insistently, but Dean released his grip on John's shirt and caught his wrists forcing them to the wall, leaning in to press another kiss on him.  John pulled away from Dean's mouth. "Dean let me go. I want to get my pants on at least."

 

"Hell no," Dean snapped forcing his mouth back against John's, working John's lips open with his tongue. Finally he said, "I want you to understand completely that this is never happening again. Do you get it?"

 

Bristling John jerked his wrists managing to free one arm. He shoved at Dean, but before he could speak Dean leaned in again letting his knee come to rest against John's groin, the minute threat not lost on either of them. John grinned. "Don't forget that doesn't work on me now."

 

Dean brought his knee up, sliding, stroking between John's legs. "Yeah, but that does." John's eyes slid closed, his mouth dropping open with his indrawn breath. Dean kissed him again sliding his tongue inside. John tried to push against Dean's chest, but Dean managed to grab his wrists again, pressing his thumbs against the pulse points, feeling for the junction of the veins. John's eyes snapped open, his face flushed and damp with sweat.  He shuddered as Dean hissed against his mouth, "I'm telling you, John, it doesn't happen again."

 

Sam averted his eyes, but smile crept over his face. That was really interesting. So Dad got off on being held down. He'd have to make sure that Dean got a hold of that little tidbit of information.

 

John wrestled his clothes back on while Sam and Dean dragged the three bodies into the center of the large cement floor. Hopefully the fire wouldn't spread when they burned them.  Sam went out to the car and returned with a canister of rock salt and a gasoline can. Dean flipped the three bodies over, stacking them like wood. He broke a couple of crates for kindling and placed them around the pile of flesh. Sam made sure to soak the kindling down with the gasoline as well.

 

The scent of burning flesh filled the room. John tried to move away from the fire, as much as possible but every time he took a step Dean pinned him with a gaze. John sighed. His face paled as another wave of odor hit him. Finally, he retched. Dean nodded to his bother. "Sammy, take Dad out to the car. I'll finish this up."

           

John frowned growling at Dean. "I am not a five year old. I do not need to be taken out to the car. I've been doing this…." Suddenly, a breeze drifted through the warehouse sending smoke billowing into John's face. He gagged. Sam gently took their father by his arm marching John to the exit. He pushed the door open, and leaned John against the jam. John panted, fighting a losing battle with his stomach. Fortunately, he hadn't eaten anything all afternoon, so there was not much to come up. John leaned over bracing his palms against his thighs and let go.

 

When the bodies had burned down to ashes and bits of bone Dean and Sam closed the doors and followed their father into the parking lot. Dean tossed Sam the keys to the Impala, taking John's keys out of his pocket. John reached for the keys, but Dean snagged them back. "No, I'm driving."

 

John pulled up short. "Look, boy, I don't know where this sudden, annoying stubborn streak is coming from, but you are way out of line."

 

Dean turned on him, "You don't know where it comes from, just take a look in the mirror when we get home.  Better yet I'll tell you where it came from. You wanted a good soldier, and you got one.  I'm not a self made man, John. You got what you made, and now it's going to come back and bite you on the ass. Because I don't like it when my pregnant lover decides to head off to parts unknown and kill my kid."

 

"I'm not…" John paused. What could he say? I'm not pregnant, that obviously was not true, he was. "I'm not your lover."

 

"Oh, maybe I haven't been making myself clear in that regard--although after the past few nights I'd think it was evident, even to someone as mean-assed stubborn as you, John. But as soon as we get home, I'll clarify that point--a few times." Dean held his ground, and held his breath waiting to see if his father was going to call his bluff. Dad had taught him to play poker, and John often said Dean could run a bluff better than almost any man, except John always knew when he was lying.  But Dean's luck held John just marched around the truck and slid into the passenger side of the cab.  Dean settled behind the wheel and followed the Impala out of the parking lot. "We're going home tonight. Tomorrow we're going to Missouri's. She needs to talk to us."

 

John shot Dean a glance out of the corner of his eye. Then smiled to himself. His son had just grown up a whole lot more in that few minutes. John felt more at peace with himself than he had since this whole thing began.  He leaned down, turning on the radio. With a glance John caught Dean staring at him out of his peripheral vision. Finally, he mumbled. "Yeah, whatever you say." The grin that broke Dean's face was worth swallowing his pride.

 

 

Missouri was standing in the door of the house when Sam pulled the Impala into the driveway. Dean parked the truck on the curb and John slid out of the passenger side door. John was walking a little stiffly. Dean hadn't been kidding about clarifying the point that he was John's lover. John had fallen asleep with Dean still plowing the field, so to speak. He didn't bother trying to argue with Dean about it anymore. In an odd way it was a relief to him that Dean was taking a stand, even if it was annoying as hell, and sticking to it.  John slung his duffle bag over a shoulder and headed for the house.

 

Missy rushed out grabbing Sam as he dropped his bags on the porch. Sam buried his face in her hair, inhaling her clean, warm scent. "Oh god, I've missed you." He whispered. She touched his face pulling him down for a quick peck on the cheek.

 

"Oh, baby. I've missed you too." She waved Dean and John over. "Boys come on, in. I know that you're tired and hungry. Dinner'll be ready in no time. I'll get you all settled. John sit down." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, and Dean kissed her on the other side.  "Come on in; let's get you off your feet."

 

Grinning John held the door open. "Missouri, I'm eight weeks pregnant, not eight months. I think I can make it across the room with a duffle bag."   

 

He followed her to the spare room. Carefully he placed the duffle bag in the closet with the idea that he would unpack later. Dean dumped his bag into the closet as well. If Missy thought that there was anything odd about Dean sharing the room with John she showed no sign of it.

 

"Sam, I've got you all set up in the den. There's a closet in there for you to unpack your things." She motioned him to the other room. "What I have to say can wait for a little while. Let's have supper on the back porch. It's nice out there in the evening."

 

They sat around the table after the meal was done, iced tea glasses sweating in the last heat of the day. John finished the glass and she smiled. He had felt a little on edge coming here, wondering what she might think about him, and Dean. But she was as warm and wonderfully comforting as she had been so many years ago when a younger, confused and clueless man had shown up on her doorstep carrying a baby in one arm and a toddler in the other.

           

It was Dean who finally broached the subject of the baby, and what Missouri had said to him on the phone. She dropped her gaze to the table then drew a deep breath. "I called you because I couldn't let your Daddy do that terrible thing. I hope that foolishness is all over with John Winchester."

 

He smiled softly at her. "Yes, Ma'am it is."

 

"Good because it came to me that this child is the only thing that can stand in the gap when the last battle with this demon comes. You won't destroy it, John and neither will these two fine young men. You can't that is how it's survived for so long. No one born of a mortal woman can defeat it. It is outside the laws of nature and the only one who can destroy such a thing is someone outside the laws of nature themselves-- a child born not of a mortal woman."

 

"Then why would it do this to me, knowing that if I got pregnant the kid could destroy it?'

 

"Things fall apart, John. You know that better than any of us. The center does not always hold—not for them any more than for us." She sighed, pulling the pitcher over and pouring more tea into her glass. She sipped a little. "Not to be melodramatic or anything, think of it in terms of balance. Life and death, joy and sorrow, hope and despair they're all two sides of the same coin. If you never had pain you wouldn't know how good pleasure felt. If we didn't die we wouldn't value life so much. Well, there is a balance there between good and evil, us and them if you prefer. They can't muddle that balance any more than we can. The evil in this world is growing fast, too many good people willing to look the other, too much apathy, I guess. This baby will stem that tide. But you'll never destroy all the evil—no more than they can destroy everything that is good.

It just balance, that's all."

           

Dean grunted, "Are you telling me that Dad is carrying little Anakin in there?"

 

Missouri tossed a napkin at him. "Don't start any of that foolishness with me, young man. This little girl will be a powerful warrior for good." 

 

John leaned forward. "So the baby is a girl? You've said that twice now, so did the demons who got a hold of me. They called it a little bitch." Missouri nodded.

 

Dean frowned, "Are you sure. I mean, it's a Winchester. Dad had two boys. I always figured that my first born would be a son…"

 

"Oh honey," Missouri said smiling. "Just because you didn’t put the stem on the apple doesn't mean the fruit is no good." Dean flushed and John cracked up laughing.

 

She pushed her chair back motioning for John to follow. "You boys clear the table and wash the dishes. Your Daddy and I are going to take a little walk."

 

They wandered through the backyard, stopping at the wooden latticework surrounding Missy's rose garden. She leaned over plucking a few dead leaves off one of the massive old plants. The red blossoms trembled in the gentle breeze.  John leaned against the wood slats letting his fingers trail over the velvety soft petals. Missouri turned to him. "John, guilt is a terrible thing. It makes you fear things that aren't even real. What ever this is between you and Dean, don't let guilt ruin it."

 

"He's my son, Missy. You don't have any idea what's been happening between the two of us."

 

Grinning she touched his arm lightly. "Considering that you're pregnant, and that only happens one way. I'd say I have a fairly good idea."

 

John had the good grace to blush. "It's wrong, it’s a sin…"

 

"Oh Lord John, you haven't put much stock in sin or sanctity this far. Don't get over pious on me. You're just mad that you're not the one in control anymore.  So he's your son? He's not a child; he can make up his own mind. Besides it's been made up for both of you. Don't let your guilt eat you alive. It'll hurt him more than this…will."

 

Anger colored his face then, and John straightened suddenly turning on her. "So I'm just supposed to settle down, play good little wife and mommy?"

           

She didn't back down. "In case you've forgotten what happened twenty-three years ago, what's still happening today—we're not playing anything. It's not a game, you've been given a role in this, maybe not the one you envisioned, but a very important role. You raised two warriors for good, and you raised them to be extremely good at their jobs. Now you're going to raise another one—but your part in the war is behind the lines now. The boys can handle it in the meantime…"

 

"Goddammit it, Missy…" John spat out. She spun around on her heel and slapped him hard across the face. He jerked back--eyes wide.

 

'That's for blasphemy. Now listen to me John. I have someone coming over here tomorrow. Her name is Coloma Darkhorse. She's a Cherokee medicine woman, and a mid-wife. She has been a hunter, too. So she knows about this, about you. She's going to attend to you while you're pregnant, and deliver the baby.  I've already found a place for you and the boys to live. We're going over there, all of us. We're going to salt the doors and windows, draw protection symbols over all of them and bless the place to the nines.  After that the boys can go back to Chelsea and pick the rest of your things up. "

 

"Yes, Ma'am, " John said sighing. Trying to fight Missouri was like trying to hold a tsunami in a teacup. It just made his head ache even thinking about it. They walked back to the house.

 

 

After they had gone to bed that night, Missy lay in her bed grinning. She had missed the Winchesters, trouble and all. But they were good folk, family and she loved them. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 

Later Missouri came awake in the darkness, ears straining for the sounds that had disturbed her.  There is was a squeak, and a tap on the wall. She reached for the rosary she kept by the bedside, hoping she wouldn’t need the .38 in the drawer. Then she relaxed when she heard the sound more clearly—not half muddled by sleep and confusion.  The sound was coming from the spare room. It was the springs on the bed squeaking rhythmically, slowly, at first, but gaining more speed after a few minutes. Every few minutes the squealing changed rhythm and the headboard tapped the wall. Missouri felt her face grow warm. But she smiled in the darkness and lay her head back down.

The town was small, just another in a long, seemingly unending, parade of towns and cities. The car was ancient by modern standards. A 1967 Chevy Impala, the black paint and chrome bumpers glimmering in the late afternoon sun pulled up in front of the hotel. In the front seat sat two middle-aged men, one fair the other slightly darker. The fair-haired man parked the car, they got out. From the back seat a young woman no more than twenty-five spilled out. She stretched her long legs and her back cracked audibly. One of the men turned to her frowning and she grinned up at him. “Don’t look so glum, Dad.”

 

“Mary, you’ll cripple yourself someday doing that.” Dean sighed putting an arm up the young woman settled under it. He looked at their reflection in the mirror. His expression softened as he looked at his daughter, his only child. She had John’s coloring, warm brown eyes that turned whiskey amber in soft light, and thick brown curls. She was tall and lanky like Sam, but her personality was all his.

 

A third figure pressed in behind them. “You two going to look at yourselves all day?”  John grunted. Mary put her arm around his waist, and reached up to kiss his cheek.

 

Leaning in she whispered. “It’s easy to look at yourself when you're as good looking as me and Dad, Mama.”

 

John rolled his eyes. “Mary, don’t call me mama in public. Only when we’re alone you know that.”  The girl ducked from under Dean’s arm, and John slid in beside the other man. He looked a little sadly at the image. Dean’s honey colored hair was shot through with silver, and his cheeks covered with a dusting of red-gold stubble also shot with gray. Dean looked older than him now. And that troubled John. Although Dean hadn’t called John ‘Dad’ since Mary’s birth it made John sad to see his son aging so. They had found out, about fifteen years ago that John was stalled in time. Sam had researched it, and because of the combination of spells the demon had cast on him John was aging at a vastly reduced rate. He would outlive all of his family. Dean didn’t know it but John had some pills stashed away. When Dean, Sam and Mary were gone it he would take care of it.  He never mentioned it to them though.

 

Dean turned to his daughter. “Let’s get checked into the hotel, then you can go bring us back something to eat. I saw a Mexican place back there that looked promising, just no beans for your mother. I have to sleep in the same bed tonight.”  John glared at him.

 

“You don’t have to sleep with me; you can always bunk with Mary.”

 

“Oh no you don’t, you’re not shoving him off on me. He hogs all the blankets and snores.”  Mary snapped, hands settling on her hips. She shot John a frosty look.

 

“Welcome to my world.” John said smiling. “And Mary take your time getting dinner. Your dad and I need to do a little research…”

 

Rolling her eyes she snatched the money out of his hand. “For god’s sake why don’t you just say you want to fuck and for me to make myself scarce?”

 

Dean shot John a look over their daughter’s head. Grinning he pushed her jacket into her hands. “Take this; it looks like its getting cold out there. And Mary, your mom and I want to fuck so make yourself scarce.”

 

Flushing John shot Dean a disapproving look, but he sighed. There was no lying to their daughter—literally.  Mary was not entirely human, she was a Nike—a human incarnation of a goddess of truth. No one could lie to her. They had found that out early in her life.

 

_June 4 th 2009…_

_John and Dean sat in the living room floor, the parts to a tiny bicycle spread out in front of them. Mary, dress in pink pajamas settled on the floor staring at the two men. John barked his knuckles on the socket and dropped the wrench with a curse. Mary laughed and Dean shot him a look. “Don’t talk like that in front of her, John.”_

_Mary had cocked her head at Dean then frowned. “Don’t yell at mama, Daddy.”_

_John stiffened. They had not discussed how John was related to Mary yet, not wanting to confuse her. They had always referred to John by his name, hoping that she would too.  Somehow, even as a tiny baby, Mary had instinctively known that John had given birth to her, and had always called him mama. It had gotten them some stares and a few crude remarks, but John’s hard-ass glare had taken care of that in short order._

John sighed; the sheets were cold against his bare back. Dean was blanketing him so the cold air only touched his skin where Dean’s warmth was missing. Orgasm washed over him in a soft, gentle wave and John relaxed letting his legs fall from around Dean’s waist.  Grunting Dean pulled back, looking down at John, he slid his hand between them grasping John’s cock, but John gently shook his head. “I’m good, go ahead and come.”

 

 

They were sitting around the table when Mary knocked on the door half an hour later. She tossed her jacket on the bed, noting the rumbled sheets and then picked it up. “You guys are sleeping there, because that’s just gross.”

 

They ate huddled over John’s journal, a new brown leather book to supplement the others he had written over the years. Dean had a map of the town with different locations marked in red pen sitting on the table beside his food. Every now and then he would consult with the book John had spread out and mark another spot on the paper.

 

A few minutes later Dean’s cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, and grinned. “We were waiting for you to call. So how’d the ritual go?”

 

In the house in Lawrence, Kansas, Sam hiked the phone closer to one ear while tying to juggle two books in the other hand.  He skimmed the walls of the garage in a streamlined wheelchair. He gave up and dropped one of the books. Leaning back he surveyed his work on the floor of the garage. The entire cement floor was painted scarlet red. In the center, carefully drawn in black coal, was a huge sigil. The four compass points were marked with circles and in each circle was a large black candle. Beneath the compass point for South was a small stand bearing a large round crystal. It was Sam’s scrying stone.  The past twenty-five years of hunting demons had brought many changes to Sam’s life--most notably the werewolf who had crippled him.

 

For years after Mary had been born John had stayed in Lawrence. He and Bobby with the help of both Dean and Sam had trained Mary for her role as a hunter. She was bright and eager sharing Dean’s love of the hunt. John had been less of a drill sergeant with her than he had been with the boys, and he had grudgingly admitted that motherhood had mellowed him. Sam had winced when John drunkenly admitted one evening that it was difficult to be a hard-ass with someone he had breastfed.

 

Sam’s control over his visions had improved to the point that he was still an active member of the hunt even though he was no longer physically capable of traveling with Dean and John. He could summon his visions now, and used them to guide the others through the hunts. Now Sam sat staring into the crystal until and image appeared. He had tried earlier and gotten an image he really didn’t want stuck in his mind’s eye. Although over the years he had grown to accept Dean and John’s relationship, and he dearly loved the little girl that his father had given birth to, it still freaked him out a little when he honed in on their location only to catch John and Dean in “the act.” He thought they probably did it on purpose. He wouldn’t put it past Dean anyway.

 

Sam focused his attention on the crystal, and slowly an image appeared. He could clearly see the table the others were gathered around. Dean centered the map so that it was square in his image. The red dots stood in sharp relief to the yellowing paper. Sam took a deep breath and eased into the scene. Soon it was as if he was sitting at the table as well. He could almost feel John’s shoulder brushing his from the next chair. He could feel Mary’s breath tickling his ear as she leaned over the map. “Back up a little squirt.” He said with a smile. She obligingly moved away from the empty chair.

 

“How’s that Uncle Sammy?”

 

His grin grew wider. “Good.” Suddenly the map jumped out at him, one of the red dots growing, spreading like blood soaking a sheet. The stain crept toward Sam, blood pooling over his fingers. He winced gritting his teeth until his jaw ached. The blood dripped from his fingertips, and Sam forced his attention to the map, letting his hand slide through the sticky pool and come to rest on a simple line drawing of a building. With a gasp Sam jerked his head back, and the blood evaporated from his hands, the map pristine and innocent laying unmoved on the table. Sam glanced down his fingers rested on the tiny drawing of a building at the intersection of two streets.  “Jackson Street and Surrey Drive.” He hissed.

 

Dean turned the map toward himself, checking the location. There at the far end of town was an industrial park, at the corners of Jackson and Surrey. He grinned at the empty chair as if his brother was actually sitting in it, not two thousand miles away. “Yep, industrial park, probably warehouses. John get the phone book lets see what’s there.”

 

John retrieved the phonebook from the writing table beside the door, and slapped it on the table. He flipped through the pages and made a harsh sound when a full page ad appeared.  “Diablo Shipping…” he read through the copy on the page “We work like the devil so you don’t have to. Nobody ever said they were subtle.”

 

Mary turned the book and ripped out the page, “Hey, its kind of cute. Good copy at least.” She grinned at her parents. John sighed. “Well, I can appreciate the humor, if you had a sense of humor, Mom, you would too.”

 

John bristled. “I have a great sense of humor… A ghoul, a vampire and a banshee walk into a bar…”

 

Covering her ears with her hands Mary shrieked, “Dad please stop him, before it get’s too far.”

 

           

Grinning Dean patted John on the ass. John smiled at his daughter smugly. She huffed out a breath. “Don’t encourage him, Dad.”

 

Rolling her eyes as if she was the most put upon person in the world Mary rose retrieving her bag from the floor. “Great, you know we’re going to have to listen to him all night now, don’t you?”

 

Rising John pushed the chair in. “Let’s get prepped.”

 

Dean pulled the weapons bag over. He took out his .45, checked the clip and tucked a couple of spare clips into his jacket. He took three flasks of holy water out and handed one each to John and Mary. Pulling her jacket on she poured some of the holy water into a cup, and then slid the quiver of crossbow bolts out of the bag. Carefully she dipped the tip of each bolt into the holy water holding them out while John chanted a blessing over them in Latin.  When they had dried she placed the bolts in the quiver and poured the rest of the holy water back into the flask tucking it into her pocket.

 

John loaded his Glock, putting a clip full of silver bullets in it. Pulling a hunting knife with a serrated steel blade out he quickly tucked it into his hiking boot.  He handed a second knife over to Dean who checked the leather sheath and tucked the knife into the waistband of his jeans.

 

They waited until the sun was down to go out to the Impala. Mary’s crossbow was in the floor behind the driver’s seat.  Dean slid behind the wheel, and John settled in beside him. It was a short drive down Main Street, and then onto Jackson. They drove about ten miles out into the outskirts of town.

 

The landscape was bare, silent with huge amorphous shapes of buildings dotting the side streets. Diablo Shipping was the last building down Surrey Drive, a huge tilt-up cement structure with a corrugated steel roof.  Dean could see three loading ramps with corrugated steel doors on the side of the building facing the parking lot, and was sure that there would be three identical ramps on the opposite side as well.

 

There were offices at the front of the building, large glass windows and a double door fastened with a chain and padlock. No lights were showing from behind the drawn blinds, but that didn’t mean that no one was in the building. In fact, John was certain that someone would be waiting.

 

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot, no reason to hide. Once they hit the door all hell would break loose and better to have the car close in case they needed to make a quick get-away.  Propping the trunk open with a sawed-off shot gun, Dean picked up bolt cutters and handed them to John. After a pause Dean pulled the shot gun out and grabbed a box of shells, they were packed with rock salt but still effective for most of the undead.

 

They slipped across the black expanse of the parking lot, to the shadow covered doorway.  With Dean and Mary standing guard John slipped the bolt cutters into the chain and snapped the links. The chain fell to the ground with a hollow clanking sound. Dean leaned back and kicked the door. The bolt rattled and he frowned glancing at John. John shrugged as if to say there was no need for quiet whatever was in there was probably already aware they were coming.

 

One more kick sent the door banging off the wall. John took point. Holding the Glock aloft he swept the interior of the hall. There were two doors leading into offices, one on either side both possible hiding places. He studied the doorjambs, both doors opened into the room, not out into the hallway. They had caught a break at least half way, it would be almost impossible for anyone in the room to open the doors quickly enough to spring out at them; their movements would be hampered by having to clear the door first.  Of course, it also meant that they couldn’t wedge the doors closed to keep them from being opened at all.

 

Dean stopped pouring a line of rock salt across the floor beneath the first door, and then tossed the canister to John who salted the second door. That took the offices out of play, at least if the inhabitants were demons. The hall was silent, but at the far end Dean was sure he heard shuffling, as if someone was waiting just beyond the third door in the hall, leading out into the warehouse itself. 

 

The hall was dark, and even though their vision had adjusted, the warehouse would probably be darker still. Mary took up her position to the rear crossbow at the ready. John slipped behind Dean and he kicked the door open. John pushed Mary to the left wall shielding her with his body, Dean ducked to the right. A single gunshot whined passed them, digging into the wall just beside John and Mary’s position. Their opponents appeared to be unhampered by the darkness themselves. John grunted, that meant they were dealing with demons-which could see perfectly well in darkness.

 

John reached into his pocket and pulled out a Hellfire cube. The small block was made of wax coated in tar and rolled in sulphur. The cube would burn even if doused in water, and it created a white-hot light that was as bright as daylight. Wiping the sulphur off the gasoline soaked wick John hustled a book of matches out of the same pocket and lit the cube. The wick caught with a hiss. He threw the cube into the room and ducked back. In a minute the sulphur and tar caught and the room erupted in bright light. A muted shriek issued from inside, and Dean charged the door.

             

The demon huddled beside the door jerked upright as they came into the room. Mary shot it with the crossbow, the bolt hitting the demon in the chest and traveling halfway out the demon's back. The figure burst into flames. Dean kicked it back; the demon hit the wall and collapsed writhing on the floor.

 

A second figure appeared at the side wall. John wasn’t sure it was demon in its true form or a possessed human, and didn’t care. He drew a bead on the man’s chest, and fired one shot. The bullet hit mid-abdomen and the man fell, blood fanning out around his prone body.

 

Movement on one of the ramps caught Dean’s eye, but he was too far away to hit the figure with the .45. He debated, briefly, dropping the handgun in favor of the shotgun, but abandoned the idea. This demon would not fall to mere rock salt. 

 

With a movement of one hand, the warehouse sprang into full light, the warm glow of the overhead bulbs filling every corner. The man smiled, he was warm and welcoming. He was tall and slender his lean-jawed face framed in a neatly trimmed beard. His blue eyes were warm, glowing with a gentle light.

 

Dropping his gun Dean pulled the journal out and chanted a binding spell. The man looked annoyed but not particularly put out. He smiled.

 

 “That was not strictly necessary you know, my body guards are dead so I’m pretty much at your mercy.”

 

Grinning he blinked slowly at Dean. The words died in his throat, and Dean stilled frozen in place. Mary dropped back, but suddenly John moved forward, closer to the demon. He raised the Glock.

 

_A voice tickled in John’s mind. He shook his head. From somewhere far away he could hear someone calling him…calling his name. Suddenly the warehouse faded and John was face to face with a specter. Tall and willowy she was garbed in a white nightgown, her blonde hair flowing around her shoulders._

_“John,” she whispered. Trembling he raised a hand, and Mary smiled. “Did you have a dream? I didn’t want to wake you, but I knew that I shouldn’t let you sleep on the couch. You always get a crick in your neck.”_

_John stumbled forward, the nursery was softly lit by the lamp in the corner. The warm rich oak of the furniture mellowed by the yellow lamplight. In the crib just under Mary’s hand was a bundle, blanket swathed and rounded. “I just wanted to check on Sammy.”_

_“Oh, Mary.” John sighed. He stood struck absolutely still. The demon smiled_

_._

Mary glanced at her mother; somehow she didn’t think that John was talking to her.

“Mama,” she hissed urgently. John’s body jerked. He turned slightly, a puzzled expression on his face.

_A voice carried to John. He turned away from the crib. A girl was calling for her mother. But he and Mary didn’t have a little girl. He knew the voice wasn’t Dean. Even at four his son sounded undeniably male._

_Mary moved away from the crib. “John, what’s the matter? Don’t worry; it’s all going to be okay.  It can all be okay. All you have to do is say yes. Don’t you want it to all be okay, honey? Just say the word and it all goes back to the way it was. Don’t you understand, John—no fear, no pain, no broken heart. It all goes away—everything goes away.”_

_John frowned, “Everything, but what about Dean. We have…we have.”_

_Suddenly she was right in front of him, her body warm, smelling of the rose scented lotion she always wore. “I know what you have with Dean. How could you do that to our son, John? It’s wrong.  Did you do that when he was still a little boy? Did you touch him even then?”_

_John flinched. “No, Mary. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that. You know that.”_

_She sneered, “How can I know? You were sure willing to spread your legs for him when he grew up, John. Don’t you want all that guilt gone? It can be, just say so and it all goes away.”_

_Frowning John took a step away. “All, but what about, Mary. She’s mine, too. Ours- Dean and mine.”  He turned away and Mary screamed fingers twisting into his shirt sleeve. Suddenly the warm yellow lamplight became the red glow of fire. Mary’s face crumbled, yellowed then turned to a blackened lump. John staggered. The corpse raised a twisted claw, reaching for his face. “Is this what you want, John. You’d give me up for him? After what he did to you?”_

_The burning nursery dissolved into the bare, empty room of a cabin. John found himself on the floor, half-naked with Dean grunting over him. Pain ripped through him. “Is this what you want, John?” Dean snarled._

“No, make it stop.” John shoved against his son, and found himself suspended in time. Hovering over his prone body lying on the floor.  Another voice called to him. “Mama, please…I need your help.”

 

_John found himself standing in a classroom, the kindergarten class at Rosewood Elementary School. A charming older woman dressed in jeans and a sweater was smiling at him. He felt awkward sitting in the tiny undersized chair while Mrs. Walker told him about Mary’s incident. She said it just that way –incident.  John nodded patiently and turned watching his baby girl playing in the sandbox. Mrs. Walker caught his attention. “Mr. Winchester you must impress upon Mary that one does not throw woodchips at another student. John assured her he would do so._

_Glancing out at the playground again he asked, “Which kid did she throw them at?”_

_With a sigh Mrs. Walker pointed out a chubby little boy seated on the end of the slide. He stared defiantly at the other kids who were trying to slide down, tucking his fat little arms under his armpits. John frowned. “The little shit deserved it,” He thought, but to Mrs. Walker he simply said. “I’ll talk to her about it as soon as she gets home.”_

A rush of warmth suffused John, and he drew a deep shuddering breath. The classroom dissolved and he was standing in the warehouse, Dean by his side and Mary at his back. Suddenly he realized that he was blocking Mary’s shot. He dropped to his knees. “Mary, I’m sorry.” He said and he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “Shoot him, Mary. Shoot the bastard now.”

 

The crossbow bolt hit the demon full in the chest. He reared back screaming in pain. His face wavered, twisting into a hate filled mask. His body erupted in flames, knocking John to the floor. Released from the demon’s hold Dean dropped the book, snatched his gun up and opened fire. He emptied half the clip into the sagging body. Then he darted forward seizing John by the arm.

 

Dean wrapped his arm around John’s waist, and Mary grabbed him from the other side. They staggered out of the warehouse. The Impala pulled out of the parking lot, and Dean drove back to the hotel.

 

Later that night John lay wrapped in Dean’s arms.  He could hear the soft rustle of Mary’s breath as she slept. It took him back to the nights they lay together with the baby sleeping in the cradle beside the bed. Dean had been subdued since they had killed the demon. John felt a distance between them for the first time in years. “What did he offer you?” Dean whispered in the darkness. John signed.

 

“What he thought I wanted.”

 

“Mom?”

 

“More than just her, my whole life to do over. But if it all went away then our Mary went with it. And that was all he wanted, to destroy the only person in the world who could kill him.” With a shrug John turned looking up at Dean. “He didn’t understand I wouldn’t sacrifice one of my kids for the others, and not for an empty promise. He couldn’t do it you know. Demon’s lie.”

 

Shuffling around John rose up. He peered at Dean. “What did he offer you?”

 

Dean sighed pulling John down again, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder.

 

"Nothing.”

 

“Nothing?” John asked.

 

Dean smiled dropping a kiss on John’s forehead. “There was nothing he could offer me. I have everything I want right here.”

 

The End


End file.
